


Within Your Eyes

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, First Times, M/M, Series: Not named yet, Song Lyrics, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-02-27
Updated: 2000-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Blair first realizes that he has a stalker, he's a bit concerned, but as he and Jim explore their new relationship, he begins to fully realize the stakes at hand. Who are "They", how is he being tracked, and, above all, how does his strange admirer get into his office and the loft without leaving a single trace?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago, but eventually decided to toss it. However, after stumbling across it as I cleaned my hard-drive, I recanted on my vow to give up writing smutty fanfiction (I know-- _that_ lasted long!) and decided to post it. Much thanks to Myrna who betaed this so long ago. And yes, there will be a sequel or two. All comments go to palthanas@hotmail.com -- I'm not on senad. I can't stay on that list _and_ pass through college.:) And please, if you're a bit interested in my work, head on over to my web page-- I've been doing some fiddling with Sports Night and The Phantom Menace as well, and a Due South story should be coming out soon.

This story has been split into two parts for easier loading.

## Within Your Eyes

by Palthanas

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/ityliana/>

Author's disclaimer: I don't own them. I poor. That's not gonna change anytime soon. Simple, neh?

* * *

Within Your Eyes - part one 

Sunlight crept through the dusty blinds, slating across Blair Sandburg's sleep-relaxed face as he buried beneath the warm, comforting blankets. Somewhere, in the back, dark recesses of his sleep-clogged brain, Blair recognized that there was something he was supposed to be doing, something that should be important. Sighing, he cast sleepily through his brain, but as nothing came immediately to mind, he was content to just lie there and wallow nicely for about... oh, an hour or so. 

Yet, still... 

Sighing, he cracked open one eye and peering groggily at the glowing red numbers on the clock. 6:43. Man, why had he woken up so _early_? Last night had been rough case, with a whole lot of running and shouting and shooting, but _very_ little sleeping, and he... 

Wait a minute. 

Groaning softly as strained muscles screamed at him to lie _still_ , dammit, Blair sat up on his rumpled futon, wearily rubbing sleep from his eyes. There _was_ something that he was forgetting. Something important... 

~So, Einstein, just work from there.~ He scratched lazily at his bare chest, other hand busily working at a fierce crick in his neck. Damn, he was sore! But that wasn't what was important now. ~Think, think, think. What's so important to you?~ 

Well, Jim for one, and the work that they did together, even though he was beginning to suspect that Jim no longer needed him as much as... ~Think about that later, Sandburg,~ Blair mentally reprimanded himself. ~What else?~ 

The college. Especially now that he had just been given his job back with the opportunity to begin a brand new dissertation. ~Not that there's anything quite as exciting as a real, live Sentinel. Everything else will just seem tame after this.~ 

The work that he did at the PD... 

Oh, shit! The PD! 

Leaping from his futon became complicated as Blair quickly became tangled within the snarled blankets. Mumbling base obscenities in several different languages, Blair kicked the blankets aside, eyes shooting towards the clock. 7:03. Oh, hell, he was going to be _so_ late! Why hadn't Jim woken him up? 

"Hey, Jim," he called out, not too loudly, just in case his Sentinel's hearing was dialed up. He searched frantically along his floor, snagging a semi-fresh pair of jeans and nodding approval at the not-quite-dirty smell. Jim would notice, of course, and he'd probably say something about it too, but Blair knew that it was just a matter of diverting his friend's attention to something else. 

He pulled the jeans on over his hips, yanking up the zipper but ignoring, for the moment, the brass button as he raced out of his room. There was, of course, no time for anything fancy, but perhaps he'd be able to make and consume blueberry pancakes in time. He riffled around in the kitchen, movements quick and choppy as he barreled through his normal morning routine on super-drive. "Jim," he called to his over-sleeping partner, then louder "Jim!" 

"What?" Blair skidded to a stop, hands clutching a small ceramic bowl as he turned his head to see his friend leaning against the door-frame in nothing but his boxers, yawning and scratching his clipped hair. 

"Oh, man, you're not even partially dressed," he moaned with heart-felt aggravation, his eyes flying Heavenward for patience. 

"So?" 

"So? _So_?" Incredulously, Blair stared at his relaxed partner, moving forward on the balls of his feet, shaking a batter-coated wooden spoon for emphasis as he spoke. "So, man, we're going to be totally late for your shift at the PD and Simon is gonna nail _my_ ass because you took your time getting out of bed." The spoon somehow found it's way under Jim's nose as Blair energetically shook it, sending small spatters of pancake batter sprinkling over his half-naked friend and the other-wise spotless floor. "And I don't know about you, but I sure as hell don't want to sit there with him glaring down at me like a pit bull on LSD any more than I absolutely _have_ to. So," and with this declaration, he bodily turned his sometime-friend and partner, barely missing coating the smooth shoulder with drooping batter, "if you don't mind, I would rather prefer if you march yourself up those stairs and get dressed!" 

Jim, for his part, moved along obediently as Blair prodded at him, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Sure, Chief, I'll get right on it," he agreed as he headed towards the stairs. 

The disgruntled Guide nodded, pushing back a wild lock of hair with a batter-covered hand, spoon flicking globules of the blue-and-white stuff along the floor. So Jim was listening to him-- _finally._ It sure took him long enough. 

Sighing, he turned back to the sizzling skillet. 

"Oh, by the way Chief," Jim spoke, surprisingly near. Blair yelped in surprise, throwing up his hands into a defensive posture, sending the spoon sailing through the air. Both men watched as it made a perfect arc across the kitchen table and landed with a pronounced _clunk_ on the tiled floor. Blair shot a glance between the subsequent mess and his room-mate, wondering briefly if he should run. Jim turned his head back to face him, one hand reaching up to swipe a small dab of batter off his Guide's face. Blair watched, fascinated, as Jim contemplated the white granular substance, conscious of exactly how close Jim really was to him. 

"Yeah?" His own voice came out in a croak. ~What the hell is going on here?~ 

"You know that Simon gave us the day off, right Chief?" Mischief sparkled within Jim Ellison's blue eyes as he raised the finger holding the batter and pressed it against his lips, opening them wide to give way to his questing pink tongue. Blair watched in shell-shocked astonishment as that tongue rolled over the white-covered digit, questing deep between the crevices that connected his index to his middle finger. Then, with one last supple lick, Jim slowly pulled the finger out of the hot confines of his mouth. 

He leaned forward, further invading Blair's private space, perfect lips nearing the shell of Blair's ear. Blair felt a shudder rip through him as the warm breath expelled against his neck, sending the fine hairs along his body to stand to attention. For a long moment he was sure that Jim was going to lick him, going to finally do something about his frustrated sexual tension, going to... 

"Blair," Jim whispered, lips barely brushing the lobe of his ear. "Your pancakes are burning." He pulled back slowly, brushing for one timeless moment full-bodied against Blair's panting chest, his knowing blue eyes meeting the ever-widening blue of his Guide. Then, with a huge, shit-eating grin, Jim tweaked Blair on the nose and headed out of the kitchen. 

Blair stayed leaning against the counter, eyes fixed on where Jim used to be, had _just_ _been,_ heart thrumming rapidly in his chest as arousal coursed through his body. What was that? What the _fuck_ was _that_? Jim had... He had... _never_... 

Ooh, but the way his tongue had traced over the pancake dough was... 

Pancake dough. 

Pancake! 

"Ah, crap!" Blair muttered, turning swiftly to pull the pancake-laded skillet off of the eye. His unprotected hands made burning contact with the hot iron of the handle, and Blair howled his pain, not really caring if his damn Blessed Protector heard him or not. 

From somewhere up the stairs, he was sure that he heard said Blessed Protector laughing. 

~Oh, yeah, yuck it on up Jim. I know where you sleep.~ 

And that, his over-active libido informed him, was half the problem. 

Ah, crap, indeed. 

* * *

"Where does he get off scaring the crap out of me like that?" Blair muttered as he cleaned up the mess along the floor. At first, he had been tempted to leave it for Jim to do, but after the serious contemplation of Jim's stunning ability to get pissed and stay that way over the stupidest things, Blair wisely opted to do it himself. 

"He's such a fucking Neanderthal," he griped as he took a shower and dried off with more-than-usual vigor. 

"Don't know how I put up with him," he bemoaned his fate as he dressed and gathered his things together. All was suspiciously silent from upstairs, and Blair wondered what was going on up in his sometime-friend's room. 

"He probably went back to sleep," he groused as he grabbed his keys and went out the door, almost tempted to slam it, but valuing his life too highly to dare something that high on the Jim Ellison No-no list. 

Finally, he was in his car, still a bit pissy at the purely physical reaction he had had to Jim, angry that he had to take care of it's effects by himself. "Damn cock-tease," he muttered beneath his breath as he pulled up into his parking space, stilling the car with one swift twist of the keys. Then he sat there for a long moment, controlling his breathing and collecting his thoughts. 

Okay, so he was pretty pissed at the big guy right now. Any takers as to _why_? 

~Where does he get away with teasing me like that? Like he does almost all the freaking time.~ Soft touches and breaths that were so deep that he could so _tell_ that Jim was breathing in his scent. ~And it's not like he doesn't know that he's turning me on. I mean, this guy can smell the Pine-Sol used on a dining room table three blocks away. I _know_ he can smell me getting hot over him.~ So, maybe Jim did know and didn't particularly care for the idea of having a relationship with his very male roommate. Then why did he tease Blair all the time, making him sweat and pant with a near-constant arousal brought on by his friend's nearness? 

~So if he knows about it, and likes the idea, than why doesn't he just shove me against some wall and have his wicked way with me? It's not like I'd be unwilling or anything!~ 

But then again, maybe Jim wasn't sure what he wanted and was using his adroit teasing to get Blair to make up his mind for him. 

But then again, maybe Jim wasn't sure what he wanted and was using his adroit teasing to try to figure it out for himself. That would mean that if Blair made the first move, he would bolt. 

But then again... 

Blair groaned loudly, dropping his head into his hands, his upper body weight resting on the steering wheel. There was no way he could win in this situation: Either he made his move and scared the best thing in his life away, or he did nothing and still lost Jim due to insecurity. Both ways he looked at it, he ended up the loser. 

"It is a sad, sick little world we live in," Blair informed the gathered dust motes that lived along his dash-board. "Filled with sick, sad...." 

BAM! BAM! BAM! 

Blair jerked up in sudden surprise, yelping loudly as his head smacked up against the drooping ceiling of his car. "Ah, shoot," he muttered darkly, hand cradling his head as he looked around for the new source of his displeasure. "This is so not my day." 

"Hey, man, you okay?" The friendly, slightly hazed face of one of his students peered in through the open window. "I didn't mean for you to get hurt or nothing, teach. I just saw you sitting there and thought that..." 

"That what? You'd scare another ten years out of my life?" Blair snapped. "Well, good job. You get an 'A' on that one." 

The young face looked apologetically at the disgruntled Anthropologist. "Look, I'm sorry, teach. I really didn't mean to scare you there." 

Blair softened slightly at the genuinely distressed tone of his student. He rubbed at the sore spot on his head one last time, massaging away the pain before he dropped his hand back into a arms-wide gesture of reconciliation. "I know that, Joe. I'm just not having the best of daysI didn't mean to take it out on you." He gathered his things together and opened the door, placing his lap-top and papers on the hood of the old car while he rolled up the windows and locked the doors. 

"I'm, glad you're here now, though. I was just on my way to your office to see you about that paper that I turned in. I know you're still in the process of grading them and all, but I was wondering...." he let his sentence trail off, giving Blair a petulant puppy-dog look. One that, in fact, Blair had used on Jim many times before with great success. ~Don't think about Ellison right now.~ 

"All right, Joe, I'll tell you what." Blair hefted his rather substantial pile towards the freshman, his face splitting into a grin. "You carry my stuff up to the office for me, and I'll see if I can find you that grade, okay?" 

Joe's face lit up as he took the proffered pile, his eyes bright and beaming. "Hey, thanks man! I was so worried about that paper that I couldn't even enjoy myself at the frat party last night. And that's pretty weird, 'cause Beck was there and she's...." 

With the babble of his student making a pleasant background noise, Blair Sandburg made his way to his campus office. 

And within the hidden protection of the near-by bushes, his silent follower watched and listened. 

And smiled. 

* * *

"...so I told her, like, 'No way,' 'cause I knew her parents were gonna totally find out and then I'd be so screwed 'cause she's like from this _real_ classy family, and I know that they wouldn't be so hot about her dating a boy like...." Blair nodded along with the boy's monologue, smiling at the inane matters that this kid felt were so world-important. ~The young,~ Blair sighed as he fished for his keys. Then, as he turned the key within it's lock, he snorted slightly. ~Since when did I get to be old?~ 

"It may take a little while to find your paper," Blair informed his eager student as he opened his door. "I haven't managed to get a decent filing... Oh, shit." 

Blair stared in amazement at his cramped office, eyes widening as he took in it's pristine appearance. The surfaces were immaculately cleaned, so clean that they actually _shined_ his face back at him. The papers that had been haphazardly piled on his desk last time he had been there were stacked neatly in perfect symmetrical rows, piled into small catches of 'graded' and 'ungraded.' Joe peered around the unmoving form of his grad student teacher, whistling low between his teeth when he saw the spotless room. 

"Man, it looks like Mr. Clean got a hold of your office," he gravely informed his teacher, staring at the perfectly placed masks and various knick-knacs that decorated the walls and any other available surface. He took an indelicate sniff at the strong cent of vanilla air freshener. "Make that Mr. Clean with a floral fetish." Then his face lit up when he noticed a paper sitting slightly away from all of the rest, and he ducked from behind the stupefied Blair, plopping down his armful of papers to nab it from off of the desk. "Hey, cool, you must've just finished grading it," he remarked as he scanned over the stapled pages. "All right! Hey, thanks man. I'm so totally relieved to see that..." 

He babbled on for a bit longer, but Blair couldn't hear him for the ringing in his ears. Everything was _perfect,_ down to the millimeter. He was sure that if he checked the distances between each pile and each strange momentou that they would be precisely three inches apart. 

He sank into his (clean, shining) chair as Joe happily clambered out of the office, closing the door behind him. Even the trash can was emptied, the insides sparkling new and perfectly spot-less. He could eat his damn dinner in there and it'd be completely sanitary. Ah, man. 

Blair stared at the unnerving perfection of his office, almost shuddering as a cool air swept across his skin. This was way beyond freaky. It was complete twilight zone. 

Zone. 

Hmm, speaking of that friendly word association, who exactly was the only person he knew that was capable of doing something like this? 

"Ellison." 

Blue eyes glimmered as he stared somewhere off into space. Jim had been griping about his personal habits for what seemed like forever now, but this was taking things way too far, even for his anal-retentive roommate. Someone was going to have to show James Ellison who was boss. 

A slow grin spread over his face as he contemplated the prospect. Yes, Jim Ellison had had this coming to him for a long time. 

Alone in his perfect office, Blair Sandburg began to chuckle. 

* * *

The loft was empty when he finally returned. ~Yeah, Jim, that's the idea. Run for your life!~ Blair tossed his keys towards the basket and shrugged out of his light coat. ~Prick.~ 

On his way to the kitchen, Blair noticed the blinking message light on the machine. Smiling grimly-- he knew exactly which ex-Army cop workaholic was gonna be on that one-- Blair pressed the play button and continued towards the kitchen, grabbing some supplies out of the fridge and tossing them onto the cutting board. 

:: Hey, Blair, it's me. I decided to go down to the office today to get some paperwork done.:: Ha. He just knew it. :: I'll be back later in the evening-- can you do dinner detail tonight? :: 

Blair was affronted. "Hey, man, it's _your_ turn!" he informed the machine irritably, hands pausing in the act of chopping vegetables. Then he blinked as glanced down at his hands which held the knife to the pepper. "Ah, man," he grouched, continuing to slice the bell peppers, "he's got me so totally conditioned here." 

The machine beeped to begin the next message, and Blair listened with half an ear for the next voice to begin. He paused in the act of cooking dinner when nothing came out from the speaker, his head cocking to the side in surprise. Huh. _That_ was odd. Laying down the long knife, Blair stepped back into the living room, absentmindedly wiping his hands on a dishtowel that he had snagged from it's rack. The message was still playing, but he couldn't hear anything coming from the speaker. 

"Maybe they forgot they were on the phone," he muttered to himself, pressing the fast forward button. The next message began, as empty as the first. Shrugging, Blair reached out to press fast-forward again, only to stop when he heard the faint rasp of breathing over the line. Someone _was_ on the line, breathing light, jerky breaths into the receiver. Brows drawing together, Blair fast forwarded to the next message. The same noise assaulted his ears-- the deep rhythm of breaths drawn, just barely heard over the line. And, with it, the light rasp of... something... crossing the receiver. 

Oh, shit. Not good. Oh, shit. 

Blair could feel his breathing excellerate as his heart began pounding in his chest. Ah, man, this was _not_ good. He and Jim had just wrapped up yet another excruciating case that had nearly gotten his Sentinel killed, and Blair wasn't sure if he could handle the stress of yet _another_ threat on Jim's life. 

"Please, God, not again," he whispered to the ceiling, the sharp staccato of his heartbeat making a frantic melody against the soft rasping of the answering machine. If Jim died... 

The thought was too horrible to finish. 

Gathering himself together with a viscious yank to his self-conscious, Blair unplugged the damn machine and reached out with shaking hands for the phone. "Please be okay, man, please be okay..." he mummered breathilly as he speed-dialed Jim's office phone. "Be okay, be okay, beokaybeokaybeokay..." 

"Ellison's desk-- Rafe here." 

"Rafe!" Thank God, thank God-- my God, why wasn't _Jim_ answering the phone? Oh my God, oh my God... Blair struggled to bring his breathing under control. 

"Hey, Hair-boy, that you? What's wrong?" Blair choked out an attempt to reply, and Rafe was immediately solicitous, worry coloring his tone. "Hey, Blair, are you okay? Blair? Blair!" 

"'Mokay," Blair managed to get out, furiously trying to get his escalating heart beat under control. ~Everything's okay, Chief, Jim's fine, you're fine. It's all cool. It was probably nothing at all- probably just a prank call.~ 

Yeah, with _his_ record? Not likely. 

"Is... is Jim there?" 

"Ellison?" Detective Rafe almost seemed confused at this swing in the conversation. "No, Blair, he's been gone for a couple of hours. Said he was going home to get some rest..." Blair choked back an immediate, worried sob. There _was_ something wrong! Something was wrong with Jim! 

In his sudden flash of panic, Blair wasn't aware that Rafe was still speaking. "Hey, man, are you okay? What's going on down there? Blair?" 

Blair shook his head, confused and frightened. He didn't _know_ anything-- the messages could be anything, anything at all. Hell, for all he knew, it could be his mother, Naomi, sending him karmic waves. "It's cool, Rafe," he assured the cop automatically, with a small, fake laugh, his mind turning to the problem at hand. "I'll see you tomorrow, all right?" He hung up before he could hear the cop's reply. 

Blair closed his eyes tightly as he cradled the receiver. Before-- before Jim, before the Sentinel project, before working with the Cascade Police Department-- Blair would've blown something like this off without even thinking twice. Kids do this kinda thing all the time, he would have reassured himself. No problem. 

Only thing was, now after working so long with danger and having his life as well of that of the man he loved threatened on a nearly daily level... 

~Oh, yeah. There's a problem here. Big problem.~ 

Yet still, a piece of that old Blair remained. As he kept reiterating to himself, this could be _anything._ And, if it was something bad, it was up to him to find out. 

Swallowing the huge lump that had taken up residence in his throat, Blair looked at the answering machine. He felt... well, silly for being so anxious over an inanimate object, but hey, inanimate objects could do a lot of damage. Like sudden down-steps, or slippery tiles. 

Or guns. 

Hoo, boy, _don't_ think about guns. 

~Okay, Blair, you can do this,~ he coached himself, rubbing the palms of his hands over his aching eyes. ~It's just a phone, Blair. An answering machine for mercy's sake! All you have to do is press play!~ His hand quivered slightly as he reached for the button, but Blair stilled it's faint motion with the force of his will. ~Press play, Blair. Do it. Press play.~ His hand hovered over the machine button when, with a sudden burst of noise, the telephone rang. 

Blair shrieked, jumping back from the machine in a frenzy of horrified panic. His breaths pounded out of his chest in the sudden rush of adrenaline, couring through his trembling body. Then the phone rang again, this time sounding completely normal-- mundane, even. ,Laughing shakilly, Blair pushed himself away from the wall. "Man, I haven't been so scared by the telephone since I saw Scream." With hands that still trembled slightly from the shock of fear, Blair picked up the phone. 

"Hello?" He was proud that his voice didn't shake at all, a tribute to his garganthium acting skills. Or, B.S.ing as Jim would put it. The person on the other end was silent, and Blair repeated himself, wondering if they had heard him the first time. "Hello?" 

A long silence followed, in which the only noise was the sound of his breathing, which was incredibly loud in his ears. Then, finally, just before he completely wigged out, a halting voice said: 

"Blair?" 

The voice was strange and hard-edged, almost mechanical, as if someone where speaking through a voice-scrambler. 

"Yes?" 

"They're coming for you, Blair," the sexless voice answered, dropping to a low whisper. 

"Ah, shit." That was all it took. Blair had been through too much not to take a warning like that to heart, and he shifted to make a dash for the door. If he calculated it right, he could be out of there and driving to the Police Department in less than three minutes. 

"No!" The voice caught his attention and stayed his frantic actions. Blair stumbled slightly as he halted his just-begun dash to the door, his hands grappling as he tried to grasp the fallen receiver. He could hear the slight crackle of the voice adapter as he placed the ear-piece back into place, his eyes darting about the loft worriedly. 

"Okay, yeah, I'm not leaving." He bounced on the balls of his feet, unable to control the frenetic jitters that coursed throughout his body. ~Not cool. This is so not cool.~ 

"They'll find you if you leave." A pause, then, "They're good at finding you." 

Blair had had enough. "All right, who are you and who the _fuck_ are They?" His voice rose sharply in his agitation, causing the other to hiss into the receiver in pain. Forcing himself to keep his cool, Blair lowered his voice. "I just want to know what they did with Jim." 

There was a long pause in which Blair was sure that his benefactor had hung up. Then, finally, the halting voice answered, "Jim is not in danger right now. You are. Lock all of the doors and windows of the apartment. Turn all of the lights on, and put on the loudest music that you can find. Anything, as long as it's loud and pounding. Do you understand?" 

"But, why...?" 

"I have to go." There was short pause, followed by a soft, "It was nice talking to you, Blair." 

Blair blinked in surprise, than blinked again. Huh? "Um, it was nice talking..." He didn't finish-- he didn't have to. The line was dead. 

Turning, dazed, he took one look around the loft. Something should be different, if only to prove that he was not crazy. 

"Not my day," he whispered as he hung up the phone. "This is not my day at all." 

* * *

Jim whistled cheerfully as he maneuvered the truck through the busy streets. Today had definitely been his day. At first, when he had woken up to the thudding heartbeat of his Guide, he had been alarmed, but as he had followed Blair's mutters and dashing about with his heightened hearing, alarm had sunken firmly into amusement. It was just like Blair to totally forget that Simon, for one of the very few times in Jim's long career, had given them a day to 'soak their heels.' He really should've said something earlier, he realized, but it had been too much fun to watch Blair spaz over the prospect of a Simonesque bawling-out. 

And then, when teasing his Guide, it had been all he could do not to lean forward and finally taste those perfect lips. 

He had been angsting about that for weeks- years, maybe. In fact, he honestly didn't know when it began: when friendship had melted into love and adjunct lust, when friendly touches had stopped being enough. When he started having dreams of lying in Blair's arms, stroking and touching. 

Oh, he knew the kid loved him. That was a given-- how the hell could he put up with him if he didn't? And he caught the way that Blair sometimes looked at him, as if he were the be-all and end-all of civilization. Love like that had a way of making a man feel powerful. 

It wasn't the love, actually, that Jim found himself having problems with. He could do love; he had plenty of it stored in reserve, just waiting to be claimed by a spunky, long-haired Anthropologist. It was the more... physical aspect that Jim found himself dreading. The thing that took place after the hugging and soft kisses escalated. For the longest time, he wasn't sure that he could do it, wasn't sure that he could show _that_ kind of love towards his very male roommate. 

And then, the dreams had come, stealinging into his mind as he slept, leaving him panting and heaving, covered in cum when he woke. Memories of his dreams remained with him, decidedly erotic and very much starring Blair. 

Well, he could scratch the uncomfortable with sex theory. Which meant he no longer had any excuse _not_ to come forwards and admit his feelings. 

Jim had waited those next several days in delicious anticipation, watching his beautiful Guide and waiting for the right moment to spring it on him. He knew-- clearly, irrevocably-- that Blair wanted him. Each morning, while taking care of that night's dream-land consequences, Blair had moaned _his_ name, over and over in the softest of whispers, never knowing that the hero of his mastibatory fantasies _was_ , in fact, awake, and was joining him in the pleasured stroking of his body as he lay several feet above him. God, it was a hellish Heaven that he was in. 

And, as Jim watched, he plotted. 

The woods, he decided, were the perfect location. Blair would appreciate the romance inherent in a mid-evening picnic deep within the encompassing woods, perhaps in a nice grassy glade or clearing. They would eat the fine foods and wine, feeding strawberries to each other as they whispered sweet nothings, hands reaching out to lightly stroke across warm skin, And then, just as the sun was going down, they would begin to make love in the gathering twilight. 

A sudden blaring of a horn jerked Jim out of his pleasant reverie, and he swerved back into his lane with a muffled curse. The pissed-off occupants of the on-coming car flicked him off as they speeded by, but Jim merely smiled and waved back, too happy with the world to care much. He had been busy all day long, preparing for this evening: the blanket was already laid out within the secluded glade, and a cooler filled with delicate food and wine sat in the truck bed. A dozen red-tipped white roses lay on the seat next to him, and Jim cast glances over in their direction every once in awhile, making sure that they would make it through the trip. Blair's reaction to him this morning had been the catalyst that he needed to get the ball rolling, 

So, as he turned the last corner to the loft, his heart pounding deep within his chest in an erratic, staccato rhythm, Jim prayed to a God that he had ignored for most of his adult life that tonight of all nights would go just as planned. No bad-guys bursting in with loaded guns, no near-misses, no screwy senses to deal with. Just him and Blair and... 

He paused, half-out of the car, his senses suddenly on alert. The deep thrumming of the bass drum pulsed through the night air, wafting from the brilliantly lit windows of the loft, it's pounding rhythm snaking into his head and almost throwing him back in confusion. Jim focused his attention, fiercely visualizing the dials, clawing back from the edge of a zone-out as the deep thrumming noise obliterated all other sense of self. Thud-dum. Thud-dum. Thud-dum. 

But then something caught his attention, something hidden within the pounding noise, and Jim zeroed in with sudden ease, for that was _Blair's_ heart beating so rapidly, thudding so swiftly that it skipped beats in it's own rhythm, the tone familiar and terrifying: Blair was afraid. Jim dropped the roses, making for the door at a dead bolt, his senses screaming out to him that Blair was frightened! Blair was in trouble! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! Jim grappled with the door, leaving it hanging open in his desperation to get to his Guide's side, leaping up the stairs three at a time when the elevator did not come at once. He could smell the cloying scent of Blair-fear, the sweat on his Guide's body sending out signals that the primal throwback that made up Jim Ellison's genetic codes could not ignore. He did not stop at the door but merely burst through, his gun ignored as he prepared to take the bastards that had scared his Guide out bare-handed, eager to rip out their throats and taste their blood spilling over his tongue. The thick wood splintered about him, and the scream that ripped from his throat was feral and furious, more of the noise of an immense jungle-cat than that of a man. 

Turning wildly, he focused his senses on tracking down his mate, intent on doing whatever was needed to see him safe again. A small whimper floated from up-stairs, and Jim was in motion again, moving up the intervening space as if he were bounding four-legged across the grassy plains, eyes black with fury and fear. If he were hurt... 

He skidded to a stop when he entered his own room, his senses going haywire as his eyes darted about the seemingly empty room, his nostrils flaring at the thick stench of fear and tears. And then, at once, he _knew_ where Blair was just as he knew that this man must be protected, and he moved around the corner of the bed, his face blank as he looked down onto the huddled form of his Guide who stared up at him with wide eyes, a gleaming knife clutched within his hands. Their chests rose and fell together in a frantic rhythm as Blair slowly put together the fact that this presence in the room was not the looming prospect of _Them_ but was, rather, the only thing that he could trust to keep him safe. 

A long moment spread out between them as their eyes met and stared. 

Then, with a strangled cry, tossing the useless kitchen knife aside, Blair rose from the corner and launched himself into Jim's arms in one fluid motion. 

And, in the Sentinel's mind, _that_ was were he _belonged_. 

* * *

Blair sighed as he settled back into the couch, closing his eyes in fatigue. He had been in Hell all night long, the warning over the phone running through his mind every time he turned his head and saw a shadow flicker across the wall. Each movement seen out of the corner of his eye had taken on a sinister motive, and Blair had soon worked himself up into such a state of fear that he could not talk down, his breath wheezing rapidly from his belabored chest. He had escaped to Jim's room, attempting to surround himself with the man who made him feel safe and protected, knowing that should They come, the knife in his hand would probably do no good. But he was ready-- ready to fight if he had to (oh, please God, let me not have to). 

That is, until he had heard the shattering of the door and the screaming, snarling voice laced with bestial fury. 

Then, he had known that he was totally fucked. 

But it had been Jim. Jim! And Jim had half-carried him down the stairs, arms wrapped tightly around him, and Blair hadn't been at all ashamed of the tears of relief that washed over his face as his Blessed Protector did his damn job, making him feel comfortable and secure. The pounding music had been turned completely off, the busted door laid against the empty threshold and blocked by a large chair, and Blair was gently sipping a warm cup of herbal tea as Jim painstakingly listened to the messages over and over, his hearing dialed up to it's highest. 

Blair was careful not to say a word as Jim stood, just in case his hearing was still dialed up. He barely let his friend's name pass his lips, his voice pitched so low that even he couldn't hear it. Jim turned, surprised, as if he had forgotten that his Guide was sitting there, a concerned expression melting from his face immediately. Blair knew that look that swiftly took it's place: it was an 'I've got information that may mean a threat to your life, but I'm gonna keep it to myself so that you don't get worried.' Oh, yeah-- Blessed Protector was in perfect working order, thank you very much. 

"So, Chief, that phone call...?" 

"It came almost right after I called the PD to see if you were all right.... By the way, man, where the _fuck_ were you? I was _worried_ about you!" Jim shrugged, not saying. That grassy glen would have to wait for another time. _Sigh_. "And then the phone rang. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman 'cause whoever was using a voice scrambler, and it told me that 'They' were coming to get me and all. And I was, like 'shit!', and started to get the hell out of here, but then it said that if I left the loft, that 'They' would be able to track me down." He paused suddenly, his forehead creasing as he remembered what was said next. "It said that 'They' were good at finding you. It sounded almost forlorn, Jim, like it knew what I was going through." He shook his head then, clearing his thoughts. "Anyway, it told me to turn up the music as loud as it would go and turn on all the lights. Then it hung up." Blair shrugged, giving Jim his best 'what can I say' expression. He didn't bother telling his roommate the strange thing that the voice had said upon hanging up-- 'It was nice talking to you, Blair.' Almost as if whoever it was _knew_ him in some way. But if so, then did he know them back, and if he did, who was it? There were just too many questions. 

"Good job, Chief." He paused for a moment, watching the way his Guide's head bobbed in fatigue. "Hey, Sandburg," he stated suddenly, startling Blair to full wakefulness. "I'll go make you something to eat, 'kay? You must be hungry." It was small, but at least it was _something_ that he could do for this man. Blair waved him on, eyes starting to drift closed again as Jim nodded contemplatively to himself, moving into the kitchen to make Blair a sandwich. He couldn't make any sense of the message, and as far as he could tell, there was nothing really incriminating hidden there. The song that had played in each seemingly silent message had been so quiet that even he had to strain to hear it, a few bars in one, a couple more in the next. But still, the words were unnerving, the tone of the song almost... fanatical in it's declarations. He had listened to it's simple, disjointed tune over and over again, getting increasingly alarmed at what it could imply. 

'There's such a sad love  
deep in your eyes  
a kind of pale jewel  
opened and closed within your eyes  
-I'll place the sky within your eyes-" 

The words themselves were beautiful. But why to Blair? And who, dammit, would say these things to him? 

"There's such a cruel heart  
beating so fast  
in search of new dreams  
a love that will last  
Within your heart  
-I'll place the moon within your heart-" 

Jim shook his head as he cleaned up the counters, one part of himself keeping a watchful guard on Blair, monitoring his breathing and heart-beat. Everything was slowly winding down, as if Blair was too exhausted to do anything now but sleep. 'In search of new dreams?' Why would Blair want to search for a new dream, a new anchor... a new love? What was this strange message trying to say, anyway? And _who_ was it to? It would seem it was obviously about Blair, but if it were meant for him to hear, why was it pitched so low? Was it more of a message for Jim? But, if so, than whoever it was had to know about his Sentinel senses. 

It was all so confusing. 

Jim banished his racing thoughts, hanging up the dishrag as he stepped back into the living room. Blair had fallen asleep on the couch, his head full of soft curls pillowed against his folded arms, his face peaceful in sleep. Suddenly, Jim couldn't bear to leave him alone for the night. He would stay constantly awake if he knew his Guide was down there, alone in his room, with him so far away. Shaking his head in determination, Jim softly walked over to where Blair lay, standing for a long moment to stare at the beautiful face, so innocent in repose. As it did every time Jim looked at him, a wash of love crashed over his senses, making his heart ache for this strangely beautiful man. He reached out with a tentative hand to stroke back a loose curl, a smile curving his lips as Blair sighed and pressed his face into the gentle caress. 

Then, hands reaching out to cradle both Blair's shoulders and knees, Jim lifted his Guide up into his arms. Blair flickered his eyes open for a short eternity, his bleary blue gaze sending sparks of tenderness through the older man. Then he closed his eyes once more and snuggled into the warmth of his Sentinel. He knew that there, he would be safe. 

And as Jim slowly carried Blair up to his room and his waiting bed, he made that promise once again, once out of a million times that he had spoken the words before. 

"I will never let anything hurt you again." 

* * *

Blair sighed and snuggled into the warmth laid out next to him, a slow smile curving across his lips. How was it that he could have had the _worst_ day in all of the creation of bad days yesterday, and still wake up feeling so wonderful, so... alive. And happy. And safe. 

Sighing against the reality of another day, Blair began to roll off of his futon, his feet reaching for the edge. 

And reaching... and reaching... and reaching. 

Blinking in surprise-- since when had his futon hit a growing spurt and could _he_ get in on the action?-- Blair raised a frizzy head, blurry eyes searching out his surroundings. 

A bare, muscular, golden, beautiful, _perfect_ shoulder meet his curious gaze, and Blair bit back a glad cry, his eyes closing at his luck. Wow, even if he didn't remember having sex with his roommate, it was totally okay. Hell, he'd make up for that lack of memory in _spades_. Oh, yeah. 

But as he reached out to have his wicked way, Blair realized two key things: 

  1. He was still dressed, and 
  2. If he was still dressed, that meant there was no sex going on last night, remembered or otherwise. 



Well, shoot. 

Blair closed his eyes again, trying to quell his disappointment. Hey, he was in the Big Guy's bed, right? That had to count for something. Slowly, he opened his eyes again, staring at the strangely smooth ceiling. He'd never noticed the ceiling to Jim's room before, for pretty obvious reasons. It was... nice. Smooth. Like how he imagined Jim's butt-- just a little pink and so soft to the touch... 

~Blair, man, you've got to get a grip. You've got just one reality check left, and it just bounced. Jim had to have put you in his bed last night, so he can't be mad at you for being there.~ Could he? ~I mean, it's not like you sleepwalked into his room and curled up next to him, right?~ Right? Right?! ~So, just sit up and...~ 

"There something interesting up there, Chief?" Blair jumped involuntarily at Jim's voice sounding so suddenly next to his ear, pink suffusing his face when he noticed his Sentinel's huge shit-eating grin. 

"Uh, yeah man. I was just noticing how... smooth your... _ceiling_... how smooth your ceiling was." Blair noticed the smirk playing at his lips, and he babbled on for all he was worth, saying who knows what to try to distract himself from the body laying so close to his own. And then Jim was standing and Blair caught a beautiful boxer moment, and his spiel dried up suddenly as his mouth became filled with his uncontrollable need to drool. 

"You okay there, Sandburg?" Jim asked, feigning concern, skillfully hiding his smile behind a tee-shirt as he drew it over his head. 

Blair, enraptured by the way his muscles flexed as he moved his arms upwards, took a moment to answer. "Okay? Uh, yeah, I'm just fine. Okey-dokey." ~Okey-dokey? Ah, God, I didn't say that! Trust me, Jim, that was the drain bamage talking there!~ At Jim's amused look, Blair's mouth took off, and he chatted as Jim moved about his room, gathering together some papers. Suddenly, Jim stopped and turned to look at Blair, his eyes hard. 

"What did you say?" he demanded, his eyes gray steel. Blair froze, completely unable to remember what he had just been talking about, feverently praying it wasn't about sex and Jim or anything that related to that. Which, in his mind, was almost everything. 

And Jim was still waiting for an answer. 

"Um, why don't you tell me," he hedged, wondering if he should start calling the newspapers for an advertisement: Homeless Guide in need of a Sentinel. Will work for a good petting. 

Jim was obviously furious with him. Oh, shit. "Why didn't you tell me about your office before this, Sandburg?" 

Relief coursed through him at this, and Blair sighed a deep sigh of relief. If all he talked about was his office, then it couldn't be that bad! "What's to tell?" 

Jim was almost snarling, and Blair belatedly wished that he could take back his flippant words. For some reason, Jim seemed to be taking the mysterious cleaning faeries very seriously. 

Which, Blair suddenly realized, most probably meant that he didn't do it. 

So, if Jim wasn't the one... 

Oh, shit. 

It was funny how his vocabulary seemed to always narrow into those two words. 

"I just didn't think about it, Jim," Blair cut into his Sentinel's rant. Before Jim could explode at _that_ , Blair rushed on. "I mean, I was a bit preoccupied with other things by that point, if you'll remember." Jim did remember, and that was enough to save his skin. "Look," he added, getting up from the bed, "why don't we go check it out before we head on to the PD? I'm sure if there's any evidence there, you'll find it. Okay?" 

Jim nodded reluctantly, and Blair's face split into a smile. "Great! We'll just take our showers, grab breakfast, then go!" Blair bounced once on the balls of his feet for emphasis, then headed out towards the shower. Jim watched him go with an expression that was part amusement and part exasperation, his arms crossing over his broad chest. Blair paused on his way out of the room, turning to look at Jim briefly. "Hey, Jim?" he said, voice pitched low for Sentinel senses. "Thanks, man." Then he was gone. 

Blair hadn't said what for, but Jim had a feeling that he knew. And, as he began to make the bed into a perfect Army paradigm, Jim snagged the pillow that his Guide had been using all through the night and lifted it up to his nose. 

And _breathed_. 

Yeah, he could pretty much guess what for. 

* * *

The first thing that Jim said when he walked into Blair's office was, "Vanilla." The second, of course, was "Hey, Blair, why can't you keep you room at the loft this clean?" 

"Har-har, Jim," Blair retorted, shooting his partner a disgusted look. "That's awfully funny. Now, why don't we put our 'greatest wise-cracking moments' behind us so that we can get to work on this, okay?" 

Jim smiled and shook his head. He'd never admit it to the kid, of course, but Blair was pretty cute pissy. In fact, if he were to be brutally honest, Blair was pretty darned cute _all_ the time. It had to be the curly hair. And the bouncing. Jeez, he'd never seen so much energy in a grown man since... Well, since ever. 

But then he put levity behind him, focusing instead on the case. For it had, in Jim's mind, become a case-- a very serious case that he was determined to crack as soon as possible. "The strongest smell is the scent of vanilla," Jim commented as he roamed about the spotless office, his senses dialing up as he scoured for clues. In his career in the PD as well as his life as a Sentinel, James Joseph Ellison had come to the inevitable conclusion that, no mater how good the criminal was, there were _always_ clues left behind. "It almost blocks out everything else." He knelt down and smelled and searched everything for two hours. Finally, he stood up, frustrated and angry. 

"There's nothing there!" he ranted, pacing the small office while Blair watched from where he had stood the entire time, hovering in the doorway. "Not a hair or a finger-print. Nothing! It's as if whoever did this didn't exist at all-- like everything just rearranged itself!" Blair opened his mouth to make a smart remark about the possibility of that, but closed it again wisely when he noticed Jim's glare. Okay, he could play dumb for awhile. 

Finally, Jim forced out a small growl, his scowling face enough to scare away the Grinch. "Come on, Blair," he spat, herding Blair out of the office. He barely gave the smaller man enough time to lock the door before he began to steer him towards the truck. 

"Where're we going now, Jim?" Blair asked quietly as he climbed meekly into the truck. Jim reved the engine, his face furious, his manner as approachable as an irate porcupine. 

"Where do you think?" he snapped, glaring at Blair. "We're going to the Police Department to figure out what's going on here." 

"You don't have to yell at me for it!" Blair yelled back, suddenly furious. "You have no _right_ to take this shit out on me, and you damn well _know_ that! How is it my fault that they didn't leave anything behind? Tell me that, Jim! How the _hell_ is that my fault?" 

Somewhere, several yards away, a girl lifted a small handgun and loaded a single bullet. 

"It's not!" Jim roared back, his face reddening with his anger. Damn it all! "It's not your fault!" 

She cocked up the gun and carefully took her aim. 

"Then why are you pinning it on me, man?" Blair's eyes watered with his hurt and fury, and he wiped at them with the corner of his sleeve. "Why are you taking this out on me?" 

Her finger began to pull forward the trigger... 

"Because," Jim cried out, exasperated. Then, quieter, "Because if I can't find out who's doing this, then I can't protect you." 

... the soft click of a bullet reading to be emptied filled her ears... 

"Ah, man." Blair blinked back a tear, his lips beginning to twitch in amusement. "Man, that is so screwed up." 

Jim's voice was quiet, barely catching his ears. "I know." A bonified Ellison apology. 

Then, smiling and still crying a bit, the strain of the last day and a half getting to him, Blair reached forward and enclosed Jim into a tight embrace. 

... and she stopped, letting the trigger fall back without being fired. Slowly, she put the gun back into her tie-died bookbag. 

Blair pulled away first, his eyes red and slightly swollen from the recent tears and strain. "Come on, Jim," he said softly, laying a hand on his Sentinel's arm. "Let's go to the Police Station." 

Jim smiled brilliantly and nodded, putting the truck into gear and speeding off. 

And a lone girl with a tie-died backpack stepped out from the shadows of the overhanging trees and watched them until they disappeared into the horizon. And yet still, she watched. 

Blair would never realize that he had saved Jim's life that day. 

* * *

The second half of Blair's day was no less twilight zone than the first had been. In Major Crimes at the Police Department, Simon had surprisingly _not_ bawled them out for being late. In fact, when he saw Jim and Blair walk in together, he actually smiled. At them. 

And Joel kept dropping by 'on chance' to converse with H. and Rafe, their voices whispering together in a grand conspiracy. Jim had reddened at each remark, his skin turning an interesting shade of maroon as they giggled amongst themselves. And _Megan_. Megan kept giving Jim these smug looks and sly winks, and Blair swore that Jim was going to burst a blood vessel at any moment. He had to keep up a running monologue the entire time they were in there, informing Jim that 'it's all right' and 'why don't you lay your letter opener down nice and easy....' 

Finally, Jim seemingly couldn't take it anymore. "Sandburg, with me," he barked, standing abruptly. All eyes were glued on the two as Blair followed Jim out of the room, wondering not for the first time what on earth was going on. As they exited the room, Blair could hear an excited roar of whispers flying through the bullpen, and he stopped the listen, but Jim merely grabbed his arm and steered him towards the elevator. 

"Hey, Jim," he said, trying to attract his Sentinel's attention. It wasn't working- Jim was fixedly staring off into space, listening to something that only he could hear. "Jim," he tried again, hand lightly touching his arm. "Jim, Jim, Jim!" 

The older man blinked, coming back to himself from goodness knows where, a thin line appearing between his brows. "Yeah, Blair?" 

Blair couldn't help the small smile that appeared at Jim's dazed expression. "Where exactly are we going, Jim?" He knew better than to ask what that was all about in the Bullpen- Jim wasn't going to tell him any time soon. Maybe he could sucker Megan into filling him in. 

Then again, considering the looks she had been giving both him and his partner, Blair wasn't so sure he wanted to be talking to her any time soon. 

"Going?" The idea seemed to be a novel one for the cop, and Blair bit back the grin that teased at the corners of his lips. Jim did _not_ take being laughed at well. "Well... I guess we could, just, you know, ride around, go out to dinner. Do stuff." He shrugged slightly as if he were brushing off the matter. 

Blair stared at his roommate, shell-shocked. Ride around? Go to dinner? Do stuff? Blair had expected something more along the lines of 'go back to the loft and catch a Jags game' or something. But going out... and how Jim had said it, it almost sounded like a date. Hmm... Maybe it was time to get back at Jim-- fight fire with fire and all that. 

"So, big boy," Blair purred, lowering his lashes seductively, "is this a date?" 

Jim grinned as they stepped out of the elevator and headed out towards the truck. "Only if I get lucky afterwards." Blair sputtered at that, shocked, halting in his tracks to stare at Jim as if he had grown another head. Nah, forget that-- another _three_ heads with _horns_. Jim kept walking, ignoring Blair's immensely wide blue eyes, as he opened the passenger side door. "After you, dear," he said, grinning stupidly as he motioned towards the seat with one arm. 

Blair's eyes narrowed. ~Okay- if he wants to play it like _that_...~ 

Then his entire manner changed as he slunk forward, his hips swinging. "Why _thank_ you, Jim," he simpered, batting his eyes. "You sure do know how to treat a man!" Making much of using Jim's arms to brace him as he climbed into the seat, Blair couldn't help a small giggle that escaped him. This was going to be fun! 

Jim shut the door like the gentleman that he was then moved around to the driver's side and climbed in. Blair slid closer, smiling slyly at Jim's startled look, then tucked one hand between Jim's arm and warm body, smiling coquetishly. He wouldn't have dared to take this so far if Jim had seemed to mind at all, but strangely enough Jim just grinned at him and started up the truck, not telling him to let go or move away for the entire drive. 

Blair, for his part, had no intention of letting go. 

* * *

The remainder of their evening together was surprisingly pleasant, even if Blair gave up on holding onto Jim's arms in public-- he might not be known from Adam by most of the people in Cascade, but Jim was SuperCop, and there would have been a lot of damage done if Blair continued their teasing game. However, nothing could stop the whispered comments he sent Jim's way. 

"Ooh, Jim, a _whole_ water, for _me_? You splurge, you." 

And, "You sure you wouldn't rather _share_ our pasta? You know, I could nose you the meatball and we could end up sucking the same pasta and..." 

Jim was quietly going crazy. Blair could tell that his roommate wanted to do something to get back at him, but he couldn't reply to Blair's teasing without being overheard. Instead, he carried on a cover-up conversation, his eyes glaring out at Blair in a look that, his Guide guessed, was _supposed_ to be intimidating. It didn't work, though-- by now, Blair could mostly tell a true 'Blair, I'm pissed at you' from a 'Blair, I really _should_ be pissed at you,' so he never halted in his inane banter, his eyes glowing with amusement as the evening wore on. Finally, exasperated, Jim dragged his sometimes-friend back to the truck and climbed in, ready to get back to the privacy of the loft where he could either give Blair a really good spanking or nail him against the wall and make mad love to him. 

Then he smiled, realizing that the two weren't mutually inexclusive. 

Blair paused in what he was about to say, caught by the small, secret smile that played across his Sentinel's face. He knew that he was in trouble when they returned back to the loft, but suddenly for the first time that evening Blair began to wonder what _kind_ of trouble he'd be getting in to. And if he'd enjoy it. 

He still could hardly believe that the easy banter that they had always maintained had become so sexually charged without either noticing, or, more importantly, seeming to care. What had several days ago seemed like an impossibility now seemed almost like a promise, and the blood sang through Blair's veins as he considered what may or may not happen that night. 

Jim was smiling too as they climbed out of the truck, and Blair kept casting small glances out of the corner of his eyes, considering the possibility. Did he want Jim? Oh, Hell, yeah! Did Jim want him? That was a little more tricky--several days ago he would have had to say 'probably not,' or at least not sexually, but now... Now, he was wondering, and... 

Jim's head suddenly shot up as the elevator doors opened, his nostrils flaring. 

"What is it Jim?" Blair whispered, placing a hand on Jim's suddenly taunt arm. 

"I smell..." Jim began, his eyes hardening, "I smell vanilla." 

Blair froze at once, frightened and anxious as Jim moved towards the loft with soft, agile steps. He stood there for a long moment, staring as Jim pushed open the unlocked door and moved within the threshold, his senses searching out the space with fierce determination. 

Finally, Blair followed behind, still a bit anxious but having to see, nevertheless, what was going on. 

Jim had moved into Blair's room and Blair followed, not sure he wanted to see what he almost knew would meet his eyes. 

Sure enough, along with the thick scent of incense, everything had been immaculately cleaned and placed exactly according to some weird rule of order. And, on Blair's unfolded futon, red-tipped white rose petals made a beautiful contrast to the darker material. 

"Fuck you," he heard Jim mutter beneath his breath, eyes caught on the rose petals as if they were some sort of personal affront to him. Then Jim turned, and Blair was appalled to see _tears_ glimmering briefly in the older man's eyes. Jim stiffened when he saw Blair, almost as if he hadn't realized that he was there, and motioned about the room. "It looks like your admirer is back, Blair," he commented in a flat voice, denying any emotion, but Blair knew better. He knew that his Sentinel was feeling powerless right about now-- unable to track down what left no clues, unable to protect him, unable to keep the loft from being so perfectly broken into. 

"There're no trace?" Blair already knew the answer, but he had to ask, just to be sure. Jim shook his head roughly, moving past the smaller man to check the rest of the loft, unable to stay near his Guide a moment longer. Blair hung his head as Jim brushed past, fury at this secret someone building within his chest. _What_ was going _on_? 

He could hear Jim moving restlessly about the other rooms, but it was a sham-- both of them knew that there would be no hairs, no finger-prints, no nothing. Whoever was doing this knew how to clean up after themselves so well that a Sentinel couldn't track them. 

And damned if that didn't make Them seem inhuman. 

He took one last look around his room and shuddered, imagining someone moving amongst his stuff, laying out his bed, laying _in_ his bed... 

It was too damn much to take. 

Rubbing at his suddenly cold arms, Blair stepped out of his small room, eyes immediately searching for Jim. Everything always got better when Jim was there with him. It was more of a sense that the man would do anything to keep him safe than the fact that nothing could ever happen to him with Jim protecting him. After all, for all his amazing Sentinel abilities, Jim Ellison was still a man, and men were fallible. But somehow, every time he thought of Jim, logic flew out of the window. 

Jim was standing in the kitchen threshold, his eyes hard and dark as he surveyed the loft. This was their place, their home, and someone had come in and changed everything. The entire place was reordered, with the singular exception of Jim's bedroom. Why the culprit had gone on a mad cleaning spree in every other room besides his own was a bit of a mystery, though Jim largly supposed it to be because Blair did not often go there. This whole thing was rather obviously about Blair-- first his office had been ordered perfectly, then he gets a warning phone call telling him how to protect himself, then his room and all other rooms in the loft that he visited... It was like whoever was giving him strange, twisted gifts. Jim wandered what was going to be next, for he knew it wasn't over. 

Stalkers didn't give up quite that easily. 

Sighing deeply, he ran his hands over his face, closing his eyes tight against the ringing in his ears. A stalker. Blair had a stalker. Jim knew the MO, knew how these things worked in every file he had ever come across. A man or a woman takes an interest in a seemingly distant figureinterest turns into obsession and the stalker began to fixate day and night, wanting to be nearer to the object of their madness. Gifts began appearing, small at first and then increasingly more lavish. Then the violence began as the stalker felt that, even though they had never shown themselves, that their victim should know them, love them. 

'In search of new dreams  
A love that will last....' 

"Ah, shit." 

"Jim." The older man looked up, dropping his hands beside his body as he saw the worried face peering at him from a few feet away. "It's gonna be all right, 'kay?" It was strange, silly even, that Sandburg was the one being followed, and yet he was assuring _Jim_ that everything would be fine. Nothing was going to take him away. Jim nodded slowly, realizing that the kid was waiting for a response, and Sandburg's wise eyes watched him for one moment longer, knowing that Jim was lying, he wasn't okay, he didn't believe him, but also knowing that he was going to let it go. Because that was what Blair wanted. 

"I'm gonna head on to bed, man," he stated, making it more of an excuse to be by himself than out of any real need to sleep. "I'll see you in the morning." 

"G'night, Chief." The voice was tired, world-weary, as if Jim had the entire universe weighing upon his shoulders. Blair nodded once and turned to head back towards his room, knowing that he'd have to do some arranging of his own before he would be able to sleep in there. "Oh, and Chief?" Blair paused, but didn't turn around. "Lock your windows." 

Blair kept on going. 

* * *

Jim sighed again as he lay back on his bed; the sun not yet risen. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, especially during this last long night where he could do nothing but toss and turn. He had tried, at some point during the night, to turn off his senses, for every soft twitch and rustled from Sandburg's bed below had sent him starting up, worried that it was _Them_ trying to get at his Guide. 

"Stop being stupid," he had admonished himself each time, lying down again and promising himself that he wasn't going to strain to hear every noise in the loft. "Just Sandburg rolling over." But then, when the next noise sounded, he would jerk awake all over again. 

He listened to Blair's breathing as he sat, staring at the clock by his bedside. 5:21 am, not too early to get up and start getting ready to head to the office, actually. Jim knew that he would be exhausted that day-- he hadn't gotten much sleep for the last couple of nights running, and he knew that he was most probably going to be a bear towards everyone in the office today. That was all right, though-- Sandburg would be able to calm him down, just as he always did. The kid was fucking magic. 

Jim smiled slightly, listening to the soft waking up noises that Blair made when he was somewhere between consciousness and dead sleep. He wondered what it would be like to wake up every morning to that right beside him, the soft suction of Blair's mouth opening and closing as eyelids fluttered on the moment of finally being fully awake. God, that would be so perfect. So perfect. 

Blair was almost fully awake now, his movements becoming more lucid and mumbling groans less deep. Not a morning person, his Blair. Jim supposed it was that he had to gather to him all the torrential energy that he would expend during the day in those few moments when he just sat there and grumbled, his beautiful hair wild and frazzled about his head in a dark halo that... 

Jim suddenly froze, heart, mind, and senses locking into place. Blair's heart-rate had begun to increase with fear, and that moment of recognition was all it took before Jim was out of his bed and tearing down the stairs in a mad dash to get to the aide of his Guide. He skidded to a halt inside of Blair's door, his own heart hammering as he looked wildly about the room, searching for what had upset his Guide. 

Blair stared at him with large blue eyes, his mouth hanging open slightly as he stared at his roommate. Then, slowly, he lifted something from off the bed and handed it wordlessly to Jim, his eyes never breaking from his Sentinel's. 

Jim stared at Blair for a silent eternity, conveying comfort, love, and understanding in his silent gaze. The, he dropped his gaze to what he held in his hand. 

It was a Polaroid picture of Blair, asleep. Jim looked up in a question, then paused as he noticed something. Drawing his brows together in alarm and dismay, he cast his gaze between his Guide and the picture. 

The picture in which the sleeping Blair wore the exact same bed-clothes as he did now. 

"Well, Jim," Blair suddenly said, his voice breaking the silence. "It looks like They're back." 

* * *

"You don't have to beat yourself up over this, Jim," Blair said softly as they parked the truck at Cascade's Police Department. Blair had called in sick and gotten someone to cover for him when Jim had forbidden him to go to Rainer alone. Jim was conspicuously silent. "It's not your fault that this happened." 

Jim got out of the truck without saying a word, his face a study of stone as he veritably stalked towards the PD doors. Blair had to jog to keep up, his face worried as he looked up at his friend. "It's not your fault, Jim." 

"Bull shit!" Jim suddenly rounded on him, his features a mask of fury. "It's not my fault is it? Huh?" He took a menacing step forward, and Blair froze, shocked, as Jim went on in a low, hissing tone. "Well, then, if it's not my fault, than who's is it? Huh, Sandburg? Can you answer me that? If, I'm not to blame, than who is? I'm your Sentinel; I'm _supposed_ to keep you _safe_. It's part of who I _am_. And if I can't even do that..." He shook his head, all energy leaving him suddenly. "What's left to me?" Then he turned on his heel and entered the building. 

Blair stared at the retreating back, his jaw hanging open in shock. Jim couldn't think... he couldn't. With a snap, Blair closed his mouth and raced into the PD, determined to find Jim and shake some sense into that indearingly hard skull of his. 

Blair finally caught up with Jim and matched his stride as he made his way to the elevator. Jim did not acknowledge his presence, and Blair said or did nothing to force him. This was something that they had to work through together, but it would do no good to try to force his way in on something like this. This was too close to Jim for his usual tactics, and Blair knew with a sense of experience that it may take many long, slow hours of patience to finally get Jim to really open up. 

Sometimes it was hard being an uptight, hard-assed Sentinel's Guide. 

The low mummer of voices coming from Major Crimes made them speed their pace a bit, and Blair bit back an exclamation at the people gathered about Jim's (and his by association) desk. Jim stopped in his tracks, his eyes scanning the gathered crowd, a dark line forming between his brows. "What's going on?" his tone brooked no foolishness. 

"Ah, Blair!" Megan cried out, coming forward to snag the unsuspecting man's arm to drag him towards the desk. "There's something here for you!" She motioned with a broad arm towards the desk, where a spectacular flower arrangement took up the majority of the room. It was a tasteful mix of baby's breath, leafy fern and almost two dozen white roses. Blair gaped at the huge thing, his mind searching for _who_ could have sent the thing to him. He reached out with tentative hands to touch the soft flowers, noting how the perfect white of the bud flamed into red at the very tips. 

"There's a card here with it," Megan added, thrusting it into his hands. Blair shook his head slowly as he opened the white envelope, feeling their gathered presence as they shoved to see what it said. Jim hung back, a look of stone upon his features. 

"It says..." Blair paused as his eyes skimmed the few brief verses, a small smile lighting up his face. "It's a poem: 

"A red rose screams of passion  
A white rose whispers of love  
Oh, a red rose is a falcon  
And a white rose is a dove  
So I give you a cream-white rosebud  
With a flush on it's petal-tips  
For the love that is purest and sweetest Has a flush of desire on it's lips." 

There was a murmur of admiration as Blair flipped the card over. "Hey, there's no signiture." He turned the card over again, searching it for a hint as to the sender. It was on rather plain but elegantly thick paper, the edges soft and fibery. Slowly, suspicion dawning in his breast, Blair raised the card to his nose and gave it a delicate sniff. 

And froze. 

Ah, shit. He _knew_ it. 

"Hey, Jim," he breathed softly, catching his Sentinel's attention immediately. Jim turned away from Simon, causing his superior to grumble dangerously as the Sentinel made his way to his Guide. Blair silently held up the paper, motioning for Jim to smell it. He just barely lifted it before his eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in understanding. Of course! 

Jim cast a wary look about the room, almost as if he were expecting the perpetrator to jump out from behind a desk and try to steal Blair from him. The rest of the officers were loudly demanding to know what was going on, and Blair gently shook his head, trying to calm them down as Jim made a quick circuit of the bull-pen, searching for, well, anything. 

Finally, he looked up into Blair's eyes and shook his head, his eyes steely. Nothing. 

Sighing, knowing full well that it was about time to let the rest of Cascade's finest know what was going on, Blair turned and began to tell the entire story. 

* * *

[Continued in part two](withinyour_a.html).


	2. Chapter 2

This story has been split into two parts for easier loading.

## Within Your Eyes

by [Palthanas](mailto:palthanas@hotmail.com)  


Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/ityliana/>

* * *

Within Your Eyes - part two 

Jim was silent for the most part, letting Blair tell the tale in it's entirety. The rest of Major Crimes were by turns disbelieving and furious-- Blair was, after all, their friendly 'mascot,' and this threat to him was perceived as a threat for the entire gathered PD. Throughout the entire ordeal of questioning and requisitioning, Blair kept a watchful eye on his Sentinel. Jim was quieter and more subdued than usual, his shoulders slumped as if they could no longer deal with the burden that had been placed upon them. By the end of the interminable afternoon, Blair had worked himself into a worried fevor, for his roommate and friend looked so tired and worn-down. 

"Jim?" He placed a soft hand on his friend's shoulder, pitching his voice low for Jim's ears alone. Jim was frozen in place, staring at the far window, his face vacant in his zone. Blair cursed himself as he slowly began the process of talking Jim out of the zone, knowing that he should have paid closer attention to his Sentinel. "Hey, come on, man, follow me back, okay? Follow my, voice, Jim, come on, man, don't leave me here. Follow my voice." He laid gentle hands on Jim's face and shoulders, making a connection between the two men in an attempt to lead the wayward Sentinel back from the darkness. "It's been a long time since this has last happened," Blair contined, still stroking his Sentinel with careful, gentle fingers. "You've been doing really great with your senses lately-- I'd hate to think that it's my fault that you fell into another zone. Come on, man, come out of it!" 

Slowly, conciousness came back to Jim's vacant blue eyes, and he blinked confusedly as he surfaced, his face taking on that look he always got after coming out of a zone- confusion and dawning anger at what had just happened. 

"Hey, man, are you okay?" Blair whispered, cupping Jim's shoulder with a warm hand. "I thought for a little while there that you weren't going to come back out of that one." 

"I'm fine, Sandburg," Jim replied with his normal gruffness, but he placed one of his own large hands over his Guide's, gently sqeezing before he stood. He looked around at the gathering shadows in the office and shook his head as if to clear it before he turned to Blair. "Let's get out of here." 

Blair was only too eager to agree, snatching up his coat and waving his goodbyes as Jim led him out towards the truck and home. 

"What do you say we stop by for some Chinese before heading back for the loft?" Jim shifted the truck into gear, pulling out of his parking space. "I don't really feel like cooking tonight." 

"Sounds great to me, Jim." Blair snuggled into the leather of the truck seat, his eyes driftimg slowly shut in his exaution. "Just let me know when we get there, 'kay?" 

Jim smiled into the slowly gathering darkness, not answering. 

By the time they hit the first stop sign, Blair was already asleep. 

* * *

"I don't think I ever knew it was possible to be this tired," Blair remarked as he pushed the Styrofoam dish away, leaning back languidly in his chair. "It has been quite a few days." 

Jim nodded absently as he stood, stacking his dish on top of Blair's before he lifted them both to be taken to the kitchen. He was still deeply concerned about the events of the last days, his worry about Blair's stalker eclipsing all of the other minor worries that always railed within his head. 

Blair stood, stretching out his arms as he yawned, muscles constricting over his lightly furred chest. "I'm going to go ahead and get on to bed," he informed his busily cleaning Sentinel as he turned to head towards his room. 

"Blair." Jim's voice was soft, but it was still enough to turn the younger man back around, his eyes worried. 

"Yeah, Jim?" 

"I don't want you far from me," Jim began, his eyes locked on the rag that he held within his hands. "You shouldn't sleep down here so far away, so I was wondering..." He faltered slightly, a faint blush covering his cheeks. 

Jim blushing? Stammering? Blair stared at his roommate, not quite guessing and trying so hard not to hope what Jim meant. "What were you wondering, Jim?" His voice was Sentinel-low and gentle, it's soft tones urging Jim to look at him. 

The older man lifted his head, eyes making contact with Blair's deeper blue as he replied to Blair's almost-silent query. "Why don't you sleep with me, Blair." 

"In what way, man?" Blair knew that he was probably pushing his luck, pushing Jim too far too fast, but he knew very well what _he_ wanted, and he could guess at what Jim may want as well. 

Jim floundered, not really expecting Blair to be so brutally honest after so long tiptoeing around the issue, but his eyes as they burned into Blair, asking, seeking, yearning... His eyes were enough. Blair moved forward slowly, giving his Sentinel a chance to move away but not giving an easy escape this time around as he moved into the taller man's personal space, his face lifted up in abject seriousness as he gently tugged the dish rag from between Jim's clasping hands. Without a spared glance, Blair tossed it aside, knowing that this once Jim wouldn't notice or care. 

Jim's breathing began to escalate as Blair stared at him with serious eyes, his tongue darting out to wet suddenly dry lips. Blair's blue eyes caught on that snaking tongue, a small, secret smile playing briefly across his features as he leaned forward, pulling Jim down towards him with strong arms laced around the older man's neck. His full lips brushed lightly across Jim's, teasing in their briefness, and Blair leaned back to again see Jim's face, noting the held breath and closed eyes with a small, breathy sigh of contentment. 

Jim's eyes flickered open when the beautiful sensation ceased, his hands creeping around Blair's waste to hug the other man to him, his face breaking into a beautiful smile that Blair was only too happy to answer. Then, with a sudden darting move, Jim lay his lips across Blair's again and began to move them slowly against the soft flesh as if he were whispering barely-heard words. Blair gasped as Jim kissed and tugged at his lower lip with his teeth, running a warm tongue over the soft flesh until Blair opened his own mouth, inviting Jim inside. 

Jim took the silent invitation, opening Blair's mouth wider as he pressed his tongue inside, darting it around the delicious wetness of Blair's mouth until Blair thrust out his own tongue, wanting to be a part of the action. Their tongues slid together wetly, wrapping around one another as Jim drew Blair's hips tighter against his own, thrusting up once against the heat that met the waiting juncture of his thighs. Blair gasped into his seeking mouth at the sudden contact, his fingers tightening their hold on Jim's shoulders as he sank willingly into the heat, becoming increasingly aroused by the warm body and thrusting tongue. 

Finally, Jim drew back to gasp a frenzied breath, his gaze automatically connecting with Blair's dilated blue. "So," he began, but he had to stop and clear his throat three times before he could be understood. Finally, "So, Blair." Blair gazed up at him through half-cast lids, his lips stretched into a small, languorous smile. 

"Yeah?" His own voice was dry and roughened by desire. 

Jim's eyes gleamed with happiness and humor as he peered down at his soon-to-be lover. "You ready to go to bed now?" 

Blair grinned brightly, thrusting his hips up once, eliciting a sharp gasp from his Sentinel as Jim's hands tightened around his hips. "I sure am!" He pulled out of the older man's grasp and began up the stairs, pulling the Sentinel behind him, but Jim was stubbornly staying put. "What?" Blair asked, lower lip protruding as he pouted, looking for all the world like a wounded puppy. "I thought you wanted to go to bed." 

Jim stepped forward at this, delicately pulling at the perfect lower lip with his teeth as his strong hands swept up Blair's hard chest. Blair gasped then sighed as Jim's fingers skated over a sensitive nipple, his eyes closing in sensory wonder. Then his eyes snapped back open as the sensation suddenly stopped. "Wha...?" 

"You need to shower," Jim breathed, nuzzling the fine, soft hairs of his neck. "You smell." 

"Mmmm," Blair sighed, not really hearing what was being said, too wrapped up in the soft whorls of the tongue that passed over his salty skin. Then he paused, pulling away from his Sentinel, eyes narrowing. "I _smell_?" 

"Well, we _have_ been at the office all day long," Jim put in helpfully, his eyes gleaming playfully. "And you didn't get a chance to shower this morning..." 

"I see." Blair dipped his head to nuzzle along Jim's sternum, breathing in the warm, sweaty scent of his upper chest. Jim sighed in encouragement as he continued down the muscular chest, nosing at the material of Jim's shirt until he reached the hardened nubs of his nipples. Tentatively, Blair touched the tip of his tongue to the right nipple through the thin material, loving the way Jim's breath caught, sending fine tremors through his body as his hands reached up to catch within his wild curls. Jim leaned his head back and moaned as Blair continued to lathe at the sensitive bud, nipping it playfully through the restricting cotton, tugging at the other one with his fingers. Then he trailed his other hand down Jim's chest to tug at the constriction of his jeans, and then lower to skate across the throbbing heat that made a prominent bulge in the material. Jim hissed sharply as Blair trailed one light nail across the rough material, making delicate swirls in the material as he gently bit into his nipple. The, just as Jim began to thrust up into his hands, breath laboring, Blair pulled away. 

Jim's eyes opened blearily, blinking against the sudden onslaught of light as he reached out with grasping hands for his lover. "Blair...." 

"I think you're right," Blair decided, nodding at Jim's confused look. "I definitely think we need a shower." 

Jim shook his head weakly, trying to convince his lover otherwise, until Blair stated his intentions again, this time more clearly. "Yep, I think _we_ definitely _need_ a shower." Then, with a rough nip to Jim's strong jaw, he hooked his hands into Jim's pants and pulled him along to the bathroom. 

And Jim could only agree. 

Rather strongly. 

* * *

Jim followed Blair into the small bathroom, his eyes locked on the smaller man as if he were afraid that, with a lack of viligance, the energertic young man that had somehow come to mean more to him than anything he had before encountered would fade away and be gone forever. His hands reached out of their own accord, touching the mass of curls that spilled down Blair's back, and his lover cast Jim a beautiful smile as he opened the bathroom door and flipped on the light switch. Suden brightness filled the small, tiled room, and Blair turned to face Jim, head tilted up and eyes stunning. 

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for this, Jim. So long." Jim's heart froze in his chest at the beautiful words, his eyes beginning to mist over as he reached out compulsively to tangle his fingers in the rich curls that framed his lovers face. 

"Me, too, Blair," he whispered, dropping his head so that his lips brushed across the juncture of Blair's neck and shoulder. A small, delicate shiver travelled it's way up Blair's responsive body as Jim drew in a deep breath, holding on with all of his might to the husky, spicy scent of his Guide. "Oh, me too." 

The younger man's arms snaked slowly around his waist, and Jim closed his eyes tightly as the wonderment filled him. This wasn't a dream; this was him and Blair and it was _real_. It was finally, wonderfully _real_. "God, I love you," he whispered, not even sure if Blair could hear him. "I love you too much sometimes." He sighed as Blair pulled back, already missing the heat of his lover's body, and Blair grinned at the small, petulant frown that creased the cop's face. 

"You're pouting, man," he pointed out conversationally as he reached into the shower to turn on the hot water. 

"I am not!" Jim pouted, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Hard-assed police officers don't pout." 

"Oh, don't they?" The whimsical smile that flashed across Blair's active face said otherwise. "All right, Jim, if you say so." He hooked his thumbs into the denim flaps of his jeans, pulling the material down slightly to reveal an ever-increasing swath of course hair. Jim's eyes were rivited to the slowly decending pants, his breath heaving in his chest as he stared unblinkingly, his tongue compulsively wetting and re-wetting his lips. Blair unhooked one thumb and reached up lazily to tweak one of his own nipples, dropping his head back and groaning low in his throat at the sharp sensation. Jim groaned as well, caught up in his Guide's pleasure, aware all at once of the play of air on his sensitized skin and the hard pull of cotton against his pleading errection. God, he wanted... He needed... 

His breath caught as the first glimmering of pubic hair was visible, the lack of underware on his Guide's part not really surprising him now. He was too gripped in the incinerating need to see, to touch, to _taste_. 

And then, with a huge grin, Sandburg pulled his pants back up to his hips. 

"Wha...?" Jim gulped a choked breath, hardly able to form the simple word through a haze of red desire. "Why?" 

"Changed my mind, man." Blair, on the other hand, seemed fully capable of intellegible speech. The little snot. 

The older man crossed his arms over his chest, dialated blue eyes glaring from beneath lowered brows. "That's not funny, Blair," he warned, his face settling into disapproval. "You will notice that I'm not laughing." 

"But you _are_ pouting," Blair pointed out evilly, his grin stretching as the scowl deepened on his lover's face. "Yup- you are most _definitely_ pouting." 

"Hmph," Jim hmphed, his eyes narrowing. So he thought he could play games, did he? Well, Jim wasn't much for the slow seduction, but... 

With a grin, Jim reached out with nimble fingers and dropped Blair's pants. 

"Hey!" Blair squawked, the game now moving from his hands. "That's not... Ooh." He thrust up into Jim's strong palm, his protestations forgotten. "Mmm, man, yeah, keep doing that. Oh, yeah. Hmmm..." 

Jim grinned hugely as he traced his agile finger's over the blunt head of the erection, his nails scratching light across the raised edge of scar tissue that marked Blair's circumscision. Blair hissed and arched upwards at this, his eyes clenching as waves of sensation rippled through his body. Jim watched the expressive face, mesmerized by the way Blair's features tightened in pleasure, the full lips opening as small, gasping noises filtered out. 

He pulled away briefly, ignoring the groaned complaint of his new lover as he began to strip off his own clothes, suddenly needing to feel Sangburg against him, skin sliding against smooth skin. Blair watched him fuzzily for a moment, then seemed to catch on because he grinned and pulled off his own shirt, adding it to the ever-growing pile of clothes. 

Jim stepped out of his pants and let them drop to the floor, wonderfully naked, his skin raising in small shivers of goose-flesh. Blair's eyes were practically possesive, and Jim gulped a sudden breath of air as the younger man took his hand and drew him into the warm cascade of water. Jim closed his eyes as the water traveled down his face and back, a soft purr rising out of his chest as Sandburg gently masaged his broad hands up his chest, fingers playing over the expanse of perfect skin. 

It was a wonderful, sensual experience, and Jim would have leaned back and enjoyed it had circumstances been different, but this wsa _Blair_ here with him, and Jim wanted nothing more than to get to know his Guide _now_. Sensual could wait for later. 

He swooped down and hungrilly claimed Blair's perfect little mouth, elicting a suprised cry from the other man. Then Blair wrapped his arms about his neck as they moved closer, slick chests sliding wetly across each other, hot cocks touching, causing them to gasp as fire raced through their veigns. Then Blair began to thrust up against Jim, his eyes closing in the intense emotion and arousal, his body stretching and yearning to have more. More contact, more pressure, more... 

Jim groaned loud and low as he approached the edge of orgasm, his senses spiralling up and out of control, the gasping, primal _need_ coating his senses. God, he needed... So close. So close... 

"Blair!" Jim shouted as he came, slamming his hips up against his lovers as his body jerked and writhed. Blair choked on his own desire, Jim's name passeing his lips in a husky whisper as he followed his partner over the edge, his body and heart singing as their movements joined and solified. They were one. 

And about damned time, too. 

* * *

Jim slid down the slick wall of the shower until he was sitting on the tiles, his hands pulling his totally relaxed-- and mindblown-- partner down to settle between the juncture of his legs. 

"Mmm," Blair remarked as Jim slightly kissed his soft neck, leaning back into the larger man's arms. "Thash good." 

Jim smiled, pleased, and as he continued to lightly kiss and nip at his new lover, he reached out with sure hands for the bottle of shampoo. Uncapping it with a deft flip, Jim lifted it up over his Guides head and let some of the --unscented-- liquid pore onto the wet curls. 

Blair sighed deeply as Jim began to massage the shampoo into his scalp, his eyes closing at the wonderful sensuality of it. "Hmm, Jim, you should work in a salon." 

"I've dreamed about this, you know," Jim replied conversationally, his fingers probing the other man's scalp. 

"What-- washing hair?" 

"No." He paused, blushing, unsire of whether he should go ahead and tell Blair what he had been planning. Blair turned slightly to look at him, his wide blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

"Well, Jim?" 

"Well," Jim went on, turning Blair back around so that he could rinse the suds out if his hair. "It's just that I've been wanting to do this for a long time. I've... I've actually been planning to do this. Or, well, not _this_ in particular, but this as in, well," he motioned feebley towards their naked bodies, "this." 

"This?" 

"Yeah, well... this. So, I guess what I'm saying is... Well..." 

Blair cut in gently when Jim began to stammer. "Can I tell you something, Jim?" 

He shrugged. "Sure." 

Blair smiled gently and caught his hands in his own, leaning forward gently to press a warm kiss against his lips. "I love you." 

Jim's smile was beautiful and heart-warming. "I love you, too, Blair." 

"So... shall we head out to bed?" Blair's eyes shown brightly. "There're some things I've wanted to try for so long..." 

What could a Sentinel say to _that_? 

* * *

Blair sighed and burrowed further into the warmth at his side, his eyes closed tight against the sunlight that was just beginning to shine down upon him. He felt deliciously sore but fully rested, and the feeling of peace and good-will that radiated through him made him hum down all the way to his curling toes. Mmmm.... 

A soft hand was caressing his hair, which only added to his contentment, and Blair smiled against the hard, warm skin against his cheek, laying small kisses on the smooth flesh as he nosed up the broad plane. 

"Morning, Blair," Jim murmured, still stroking his lover's glorious hair, marveling at the way the sun caught in it's beautiful brown depths. 

"G'morning," Blair mumbled against a healthy mouth-full of Jim-skin, marveling once again-- always! forever!-- at how perfectly soft yet hard it was against him. "You make a pretty lousy pillow, did'ya know that?" 

Jim chuckled, so happy and at one with the world that he could take anything in stride this day. "I suppose that I do. Were you uncomfortable?" 

Blair lifted his head slightly, shooting Jim a look that could only be interpreted as 'what, are you crazy?' "Nah," he replied, finally sitting up and stretching, the joints along his spine cracking loudly. "I loved every minute of it." 

"Mm-hmm," Jim articulated, his eyes riveted by the yards of Blair-flesh so newly opened to him. Blair caught his eyes on him and grinned, loving the way that Jim's eyes lit up with something akin to awe. The older man's hand reached forward to stroke up the broad chest, and Blair purred deeply in his throat at the sensual feeling. 

"Hmmm, stuff like this makes me wish I didn't have to be a Rainer in a little bit," he mummered, positioning his body so that Jim could have full access. "I'd so love to stay here in bed with you all _day_ man." 

Jim grinned at that and leaned forward to kiss Blair's nose. "I wish we could, too, but we really should start getting ready for work today." He wrinkled his nose playfully, his eyes glinting. "And I _really_ need a shower, or everyone at the PD will know my good luck by taking one sniff of me." 

"Oh, I don't know," Blair purred, snuggling up into his embrace. "I think you smell absolutely wonderful." He pulled Jim's head down for a long, searching kiss, opening his mouth for Jim's exciting, questing tongue. Sucking it into his mouth, Blair began to respond to the hands raking over his skin, moaning and beginning to writhe as the callused fingers dug into his hips. Gasping for breath, Blair pulled away while Jim began to kiss along his jaw-line and neck, finding a sensitive spot where neck met shoulder and using his teeth to bite not-too-gently into the flesh there. "Then again," Blair gasped, thrusting up into Jim's searching hands, already hard and aching for his lover, "a shower sure could be fun." 

Jim chuckled lightly, still kissing and moving his hands along Blair's beautiful body, but slowing the motions as he eased his lover away from the hard edge of arousal. "We really should start getting ready," he began sadly, kissing at Blair's hairline lovingly. Blair made a complaining noise, and Jim grinned against the soft curls. "I was hoping," he continued, stroking along Blair's back, "that we could perhaps have a leisurely breakfast and talk." 

"Talk?" Blair lifted his head to stare at his Sentinel, a feigned look of shock covering his face. " _You_ want to _talk_? About _feelings_?" He whistled low between his teeth. "What's the world coming to?" 

Jim grabbed a pillow and thudded it over the laughing man's head, the deep lines about his eyes crinkling as he grinned at the Anthropologist. "All right, funny man, laugh it up," Jim grinned, pulling Blair against him, unresisting. "I'll take it out on you later." 

"Promise?" Blair ducked as Jim swung the pillow again. 

* * *

"I'll head by the PD after my classes," Blair promised as he walked Jim out to the truck, desperately willing himself not to grab his lover's hand. ~There's too much at risk~ he reminded himself fiercely, clenching his fists at his sides to keep himself from reaching out and brushing them along Jim's solid chest. 

"Then I'll be waiting for you," Jim smiled, opening the truck door. They had, he reflected, not quite done the talking that he had had in mind, but hell, he couldn't resist Sandburg when he smiled like that. Or when he used his tongue to run over his... He shook his head, clearing it of the hazy images. 

"So." Sandburg stood facing Jim, hands crossed behind his back as he rolled up onto the balls of his feet and then back down. 

"So." 

"I guess I'll be seeing you." 

"I suppose so." 

Blair grinned suddenly, his eyes gleaming. "God, we've been living together for how long and we're now uncomfortable around each other?" 

"Well, everything's a little bit different now," Jim conceded, nodding towards the loft. "I guess we should've know there would be a little tension." His eyes were serious as he reached out to grip his Guide's chin, turning Blair's eyes to face him. "That is something we're going to have to talk about, Chief. There's a lot that's going to be different-- will I be able to let you get yourself in danger and that sort of thing." 

"Did you ever _let_ me get into trouble, Jim?" Blair snorted, laying a hand on Jim's fingers. Then his voice softened. "I've always loved you, man. The only thing's that's different is that now I'm allowed to show you that. This," he motioned between them and then to the loft, "changes nothing between that. Well, actually," he hemmed, his eyes glinting steel, "one thing has changed." 

"And that is?" For the life of him, Jim couldn't keep himself from caressing the younger man's cheek. 

Sandburg was glaring at him with mock malice, a tiny smile belying his fury. "If you ever _dare_ find another law-breaking _bimbo_ to go haywire over, first I'll gut her and then I'll string _you_ up. Got that?" 

"All too well," Jim murmured, finally giving in and leaning down to press a warm kiss on his lover's perfect mouth. Sandburg protested for a scant second, his eyes darting about for any bystanders, but as Jim began to trace those soft lips with his tongue, Blair finally caved in, eagerly opening his mouth for the gentle barrage. 

They pressed together against the warm metal of Jim's truck, Blair's arms wrapping about Jim's neck as he pulled the taller man down to him. Jim's large hands roved down his lover's back, resting finally on Sandburg's perfect ass, squeezing gently as he reluctantly pulled his mouth away. "I have to get to the PD," he explained softly as he pressed his lips against Blair's one final time before climbing into the truck. Blair smiled dreamily, moving away as Jim turned the engine, waving as the truck pulled away. 

"Man I've got it bad," he muttered to himself as he headed back into the loft to get prepared for work. "Nah, scratch that- I've got it _good_." 

And as Blair walked in through the doorway, his face dreamy and distant, a lone girl stepped from behind the building, her face hard. 

And she waited. 

And plotted. 

And _smiled_. 

* * *

Jim grinned at the passing traffic, his heart light and his mood euphoric. There was a God out there and He was smiling down at the Ellisons of the world. Blair. He had Blair. Blair wanted _him_ , him out of all the others that eagerly lined up to get a chance at the quirky Anthropologist. 

There was absolutely nothing that could go wrong with his world after this. 

Smiling insanely, Jim shifted gears and sped up as he hit the highway, his mind filled with images of Blair. 

Which was how he missed the small click of the mechanisms of the car freezing in place. 

Swerving slightly to miss a dead raccoon, Jim gave a startled shout as the steering wheel veered in his hands, turning him towards the lanes of incoming traffic. A loud blasting horn sounded, and Jim slammed his foot onto the brakes, his hands desperately trying to veer the car back into his lane. 

Seconds slowed as the brake refused to budge, and Jim stared up into the oncoming car, knowing that this was going to _hurt_. And, as the shredding scream of metal filled the air, one word passed his bleeding lips, lost in the shattering of the windshield. 

"Blair." 

* * *

Blair tore into the waiting room of the hospital, eyes wide with fear and anger. Simon stood at his entrance, catching his attention. 

"Where is he, Simon?" Blair began on hyperdrive, striding forward to the Captain, hands clenching around each other in his worry. "Is he all right? What happened to him? Can I see him?" His eyes were maniacal and bright with anxiety. 

"Calm down, Blair." Simon motioned for the Anthropologist to follow as he headed out of the waiting room. "Jim's going to be fine, Sandburg. In fact, they're releasing him any moment now-- we just wanted to wait until you got here. He was in a car accident on the way to the PD; it was pretty bad, but nobody was seriously injured or killed." 

"Who hit him?" Blair's tone made it evident that he would find the bastard that had done this to his Jim and gain recomsence. 

Simon glanced at Blair out of the corner of his eye, wondering at the feverent tone. "Nobody-- it was Jim's fault. He claims that the truck froze up and veered off into traffic; we're having professionals take a look to see if they can verify this. In the meantime, I'm giving Jim a few days off to get some rest and heal. It's up to you to see that he takes it." 

"Oh, I will," Blair promised feverently as he stalked down the sterile halls. "I will." 

They walked in silence to the elevator, each man attending to his own thoughts. Blair could barely control his impatience as they waited for the elevator, every instinct willing him to tear up the stairs and protect Jim with everything he had. He knew it was ridiculous-- knew that Jim was fine, but he still had to see him, touch him, to reassure himself that he had not lost him. The call from Simon had been one of the worst moments of his life. He had left his class without even bothering to find a replacement and had broken every speed limit to get to the hospital, fear and worry coursing through his veins. I just got him, his mind had chanted as he drove. Please don't let me have lost him already. 

Simon motioned towards an open door down the hallway, and Blair made tracks towards it, barreling across the threshold to skid to a stop just inside the room. Jim was there, blessedly whole, one side of his face covered in a large ice bag. He looked up as Blair came in, his blue eyes tired and pained, and he nodded briefly to his lover and partner as he stood. 

Blair was at his side immediately, one arm snaking around to help steady Jim on his feet, and the older man looked down at his young lover, finally removing the large ice bag. 

Blair sucked in a breath as he saw Jim's face. He had seen accident victims before; he knew what to expect, but still, somehow, seeing the swollen cheeks and lips, the blue-tinged skin displaying the burst blood vessels and the raw red scrapes that sliced across the chin and jaw on _his_ Sentinel... 

"I'm _fine_ Sandburg," Jim grumbled, or, at least, tried to. The swelling was huge and horrible, and Blair didn't doubt that it hurt like hell to talk. 

"Was that from the airbag, man?" Blair peered up into the battered face, quickly speaking over himself as Jim attempted to open his mouth to reply. "No, don't answer. Just nod or shake your head when I ask you a question, okay? I know that has got to hurt." He helped his friend out of the room, taking much of the older man's weight upon himself. "So, was it the airbag?" Jim nodded. "Ah, shit. I know how it kills when it pops you one across the mouth. It's like being hit in the face with a baseball bat. The cuts have got to be from the abrasive material." At Jim's raised eyebrows, Blair shrugged. "Hey, I've been in an accident before. It wasn't pleasant at all, as you probably know. Hey," he glanced speculatively at his partner, "there isn't anything else wrong with you, right? Anything else hurt?" 

Jim shook his head, then paused and nodded, then shrugged. Blair got the picture-- yeah, a little, but not too bad. 

"All right, then. I'll get Simon to pick up the doctor's prescription while I get you home. I'm sure that you won't be able to eat much solid food for a while, huh?" Jim shrugged again, then nodded slightly. "Well, that's okay. I'll hop out and get you some apple sauce or something. And a milkshake-- how does a milkshake sound, Jim? Chocolate. Naomi always said that a chocolate milkshake could cure all the evil vibrations in the world." 

A small, choking laugh burbled out of Jim's sore mouth, and Blair winced at the evil look Jim shot him. "All right, man," he conceded as he helped his Sentinel into the car, "I won't make you laugh. I swear on my honor as a sacred Shaman. Good enough, man?" His hands were gentle as he helped Jim fasten his seat belt, his worried white face peering out from a waterfall of brown hair. Then, sure of his Sentinel's comfort, Blair hurried about to the other side of the car and climbed in, fastening his seat belt with one decisive click. "Okay, let's head on home." He paused then, hand tightening on the key in the ignition, face staring forward fiercely. "I was worried about you," he said suddenly, interrupting the silence. Jim just looked at him with warm blue eyes, a bit hazy from the painkillers he had already ingested. With a small shrug, Blair revved up the engine and headed out of the hospital parking lot, his eyes fastened forward. "I just wanted you to know that I, you know, really cared. That I would have been really empty if something had happened to you. That I... I love you, Jim. That's all." 

He drove for a bit in strained silence, his hands clenching the wheel until the knuckles shone white. Then he was aware of another hand covering his, and Blair darted a quick look out from the corner of his eye, his blue gaze meeting Jim's slightly hazy look, and Blair swallowed convulsively at the love that he saw there. Jim didn't say the words-- he didn't have to. Blair knew. 

And that was enough. 

* * *

The room was spinning slowly, moving about on it's own accord, making him feel dizzy and disoriented as he slowly sat on his bed and began to pull off his shoes. The actions were clumsy and only half-successful, each grasping motion of his hand fumbling away without accomplishing much. Blair was chirping something as he moved around him, putting things in order and preparing to go off and buy some food that Jim could eat. 

Jim paused in his actions, a wave of acute dizziness sweeping over him, making him lie back on his bed and squeeze his eyes shut until the red dancing before his eyes began to fade. He couldn't be sure how long he lay there, but suddenly he felt hands tugging at his boots, pulling them and then his socks off one at a time before they began to gently tug at his belt buckle. 

Jim just lay there and let Blair undress him, drifting off to sleep and only waking briefly to lift his hips so Blair could pull off his pants. Then his ears were filled with soft rustling as Blair pulled the warm blankets over him, tucking him gently within the bed. The pain medication was making him disoriented-- he should have had the presence of mind to tell them not to give him any, but now it felt so good to have the ice pack pressed against his sore face and the warm kiss that touched his brow. 

And then Blair was gone. 

Jim lay there for a long time, his senses drifting in and out, the medication marring his Sentinel abilities. Pain was fleeting yet persistent, and he groaned low in his throat, opening his eyes against the slow uncurling of throbbing agony that pervaded his mind. 

Something caught his eye as he stared up at the ceiling, and Jim's brow creased as he opened his eyes wide, trying to focus his sense of sight on the faint darkness on the smooth ceiling. At first, he thought it was just a small speck of dust that had caught his attention, but as his mind cleared and he tuned up his dials laboriously the letters began to form, and Jim stared in shock and fear as he read to words that were scrawled in such minuscule precision just above his head. 

"How you turn my world, you precious thing  
You're starving, near exhausted.  
Everything I've done, I've done for you;  
I move the stars for no-one.  
You've run so long, you've run so far  
Your eyes can be so cruel  
Just as I can be so cruel  
Though I do believe in you  
Yes I do.  
Live without the sunlight  
Live without your heartbeat  
If I, I can't live within you." 

Jim read the words once, then twice, his heart rate accelerating as the meaning became evident to his clogged senses. They had been here, in _his_ room. They had written this... prophesy? warning? on his ceiling in a way that only he could read. What were They saying? 

"Calm down, Jim," he whispered to himself, wincing as the cloth of the ice bag caught against his swollen lips. "What are the facts? Just the facts, Jim." 

~Well, fact one, Blair obviously has an admirer. Whether this person is male or female is unknown, but the most likely guess would be female. Okay, we'll assume for a moment that it's a female. This admirer cleans up his office and... warns him about attackers? Or was she just trying to scare him? She also sends him near-silent messages that freak him out to no ends, quoting a song. A message to me? If so, she knows about my Sentinel senses. Which, of course, she does, considering the vanilla scent that covers everything every time she has been somewhere. Combining that with the almost-silent song and the almost-invisible writing... All right, she also gives him gifts of flowers and is able to get past my senses... how the _hell_ does she do that? And the last message was strange, but loving. This one... this one is threatening. Does she perhaps know about Blair and me?~ 

Suddenly the pieces began to click into place, and Jim gasped as the connection flared brightly within his mind. She _did_ know that he and Blair were together. She had known that he had wanted to be with Blair-- thus the message to him: "...In search of new dreams, a love that will last..." She was warning him off of Blair. And then, when they got together anyway... Jim had a car accident. An accident that could have been fatal if he had been going three miles per hour faster and had been just a little further along... 

Oh, God. 

"Blair, come home," Jim murmured, suddenly completely worried for his young lover. Every sense was on full alert as he stared up at the ceiling, his gaze never leaving the ominous words scrawled so carefully onto his ceiling. This stalker was trying to kill him... and it was such a small step to go from trying to kill him to killing Blair. Such a very small step... 

The sudden noise of a key in the lock startled him out of his deep fear. "Blair?" he called, surprised that his lover was back so soon. How long had it been? He was so disoriented, the medication playing such havoc with his senses that he could almost feel himself drifting in and out of coherency. No-one replied to his query, and Jim tried again, ignoring the numb pain of his accident, raising his voice to be heard downstairs. "Blair?" 

The soft sound of footsteps crossed the room below him, and Jim could almost imagine him going into his room and standing there, looking down upon his possessions. 

He almost called out again, sure that Blair was unable to hear him, until the drifting scent caught his senses-- the unfamiliar female scent, mixed with the clinging smell of vanilla incense. 

Freezing immediately, Jim turned up all of his dials, controlling his breathing with much mental strain. He was in absolutely no form to be facing off against Blair's stalker-- his weakness was only augmented by the alien affect of the drugs on his body chemistry. If she, for know he knew it was a she, if she were to come against him, he didn't know if he could keep her from seriously hurting him. 

Jim listed intently to her movements through the downstairs of the apartment, wanting to rush down and confront her but not sure that he would be able to stand. Then, to his relief, she took one last look around Blair's room and left through the doorway, clicking the lock behind her. 

Jim began to breath again, fury beginning to fuel his thoughts. Who did she think she was? And how the hell did she get a key to his and Blair's apartment? Many questions-- _too_ many questions-- were slamming through his mind, but the most frequent was an almost-helpless what do I do next? 

Oh, God, what do I do next? 

* * *

Several days passed without any more activity from Blair's stalker, and Jim slowly began to find himself loosening up. He was happier than he had ever been before-- knowing that Blair loved him went a long way into restoring his sense of self and balance, and he slowly began his healing process, recovering from wounds that were as much mental as physical. Blair proved to be a somewhat hovering and annoying nurse-maid, prone to keep a close distance to the older man at all times. At first, Jim took this with a quiet meekness, too happy in the man's love to say or do anything that may shake that fragile romance that was blooming between them. However, as minutes ticked by to hours and eventually days, Jim began to feel his annoyance growing stronger at the bouncy Anthropologist. 

Finally, pushed beyond his limitless endurance (or, at least, limitless within his own mind) Jim did the only thing a reasonable grown male could do in his situation. 

He began to whine. 

"I'm tired of eating mashed potatoes," he pouted as he stirred the offending food product. He was well on the way to healing fully, the swelling having gone down to a reasonable size and most of the abrasions were growing impressive scabs that Blair had to constantly admonish him not to scratch. "That's all I've had for _days_ and I'm _sick_ of it." 

Blair, for his part, ignored the by-now almost constant grumbling. He figured rather philosophically that Jim was just reacting to the fact that he was being constricted within the loft. The Sentinel was a man of action, hours spent vegetating before the television aside. He couldn't deal with so much seclusion. 

But that didn't keep him from driving Blair absolutely crazy. 

"I'm afraid that mashed potatoes are all that we have left," he replied in a calm, measured tone. "I haven't had another chance to go grocery shopping." He refused to look at Jim for a long moment, knowing that his irritation would be obvious. ~Now I know it's love,~ a small part of his brain informed him. ~He's complaining about everything and I haven't killed him.Yet. God help me, yet.~ 

Jim was still talking, but Blair had tuned him out, his attention fixed on the contents of the refrigerator. His lover was right on one pointthere was very little food left that Jim could easily consume. It was steadily getting easier for him to eat substantial food, but he still wasn't able to open his mouth very wide, so the logistics of actually getting the food into the small space was a major problem. And, well, Jim couldn't kiss like this either, but that was all right: Jim had a lot more places to kiss than just his mouth. 

But you'd think he was perfectly fine the way he was complaining. Must take a lot of energy to be so annoying. 

"Hey, man, I'm going to make a grocery run," Blair cut into Jim's sullen monologue, turning a too-bright smile upon the man he loved. "You know, get out of the house and give you a little 'me-time.'" ~Where maybe you'll turn back into a more bearable Jimmy.~ "'Kay?" 

"Well, if you feel you have to get away from me," Jim grumbled, not even noticing the perversity of his sudden change of mind. "Sure, fine. Go." 

Blair wanted to smack the back of that beautiful head, but contented himself with a soft kiss along the hair-line, smiling despite his irritation at the sweet smell of Jim's shampoo. For such a manly-man, Jim sure did have some rather soft qualities. Yum. 

And then he made good his escape, knowing that an hour or so of separation could only do them good. 

And besides, it could only make the reunion so much sweeter. 

~God, I've got it good.~ 

* * *

Blair wasn't sure at exactly what point it was that he became aware that he was being followed. It could have been when he was in the small corner store and felt gooseflesh rise along his arms and neck, or it could have been as he walked along the small back-roads, his arms laden with (cloth, economical) grocery bags. The certainty was not sudden or at once-- it was more of a slow, building feeling of a presence just behind him, eyes a physical touch along his neck and back. He could feel those eyes on him, moving slowly over his flannel-covered backside with deliberate seductiveness. Shivering beneath their weight, Blair shifted the groceries and dragged his hands over his suddenly cold arms, his pinched, worried face peering out from beneath a protective waterfall of brown hair. The rest of the world was moving about as if nothing was the matter- an old couple walked past, hand in hand; children laughed and played along the sidewalks; a couple of teenagers folded into each other as if they were one whispered and kissed. 

Everyone else was so busily wrapped up in their own perfect worlds that they didn't realize that his was slowly falling apart. 

Blair hurried his steps as he began to realize that-- whoever-- was very close. He couldn't be sure exactly how he knew, but somehow, he _knew._ He could feel it in his soul and in his gut, tightening in a sharp pain as his heart-rate excellerated. So close, so close, so close, so close, soclosesoclosesoclosesoclose. He turned his head, hating the way those eyes seemed to zero in to his hair and skate across the curls. "Go away," he whispered beneath his breath, throat catching on the fear that he felt racing through his system. "Please, just leave me alone." 

He felt like a hunted animal, running incessantly from it's larger predator, fear jack-rabbiting his heart as his breath panted out perilously near hyperventilation. The knowledge that he was being followed right now, that this creature knew him, knew everything about him... The specter of this was large and terrifying and... 

"Shit!" Blair screeched, dropping is bags as his hands automatically jerked up at the sudden pain. A searing heat blazed across his cheek, and Sandburg reached out gingerly to touch lightly at the source of the pain, his eyes widening as his fingers came away coated in blood. A cut sliced across his smooth cheek, leaving a thin line from which blood slowly pooled out. Shaking slightly in a mix of fear and shock, Blair leaned down to pick up his dropped bags, jerking back again with yet another cry of pain as he felt the sharp slicing heat jag across the other cheek. This time, the small bullet chinked on the old plaster of a building, shattering the white rocky substance over the cracked sidewalk. 

"Oh, fuck," Blair whispered, staring at the shattered plaster. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He had to get back to the loft and Jim as quickly as he could. Ignoring the groceries, Blair took off at a dead run, his mind chanting a mantra that soon encompassed his entire world: get to Jim, get to Jim. Jim. Jim. Jim! 

He knew that _whoever_ was sharp on his heels, following him through the twisting streets, and Blair left his car behind, knowing full well that he'd never have time to get inside safely. The moments that it would take to unlock the driver's door would be his last, and there were so many other things that Blair would prefer to put on his 'final accomplishments' list. 

Thankfully, the loft wasn't too far away, and Blair strained as fast as he could, his heart jumping and skipping beats as his breath sobbed within his chest. The presence was still there, sill in pursuit, but as Blair clambered up the stairs to the apartment complex, he somehow knew that he was safe. He paused for one small second, his head turning to catch out of the corner of his eye a lithe figure dart behind the building. And then he was through the door and running up the steps, his mind and instincts confused with the over-powering need to just _see_ Jim to be safe. 

He slammed into the loft, gasping desperately as he leaned against the closed door, his eyes squeezing tight. 

"Blair?" Jim called out from the next room, and the harsh sound of Jim's rapid footsteps assaulted his ears. "Bla...? Oh." That was it-- a simple 'oh.' Strangely, maniacally, Blair felt a wild giggle rise into his throat, and he battled fiercely at the urge to howl with laughter and cry at the same time. Damn. 'Oh.' 

He flinched as Jim's fingers skated just below the cut, his breath hitching as he was finally able to slow his errant heart-beat to a more manageable pulse. He opened his eyes, searching out Jim's blue gaze, his own serious and afraid. 

"I've committed adultery." 

Jim blinked at the words, shaking his head slowly at the seeming non-sequeter. "What?" 

"I've committed adultery, Jim." Blair, for his part, was completely serious as he spoke. "In many cultures, and adulterer is physically marked to showcase his-- though usually her-- shame to the rest of the tribal culture." Speaking academia seemed to calm him slightly, and Professor Darwin slipped into a more normal tone. "Such markings can be the shaving of their head, mutilation, a public symbol... In one culture, woman are raised wearing rings about their necks. One ring is added for ever year they're alive. If one of those women commits adultery, the rings are snapped and her neck breaks because she's adapted to the ring's presence. Without it, her neck is no longer strong enough..." 

"And you think that the marks are your face mean that you've committed adultery?" Jim shook his head slowly. "Blair, that's crazy." 

"I'm here with you, aren't I?" 

Jim froze, realizing suddenly what Blair was saying. This _person_ , this _woman_ was punishing Blair for being with Jim. She thought that she _owned_ him, and that he was being unfaithful for loving... 

"Jesus," Jim breathed, rubbing his hands over his weary eyes. That meant that the stalker had moved into the obsessively violent phase. Which meant that Blair was no longer safe from her. 

"Ah, Jesus." 

Blair could only agree. 

* * *

"You're so gonna pay for doing this to me, Jim," Blair muttered darkly as he paced his small room. Jim had decided-- with _out_ asking his opinion, as usual-- that he was going to go to the PD and solve the case as soon as was humanly possible. At first, Blair had agreed whole-heartedly. Hell, he had even offered to be a research buddy. That was, of course, until Jim looked at him and said, 

"Well, Chief, I really think..." 

And then wham!, Jim was at the PD and Blair was left at the loft with a host of police 'escorts.' 

Huh. Jailers was more like it. 

Blair sighed as he ran his hands through his hair for what felt like the thousandth time, his fingers snarling the curls into an impossibly messy, rakish mat. Jim had been gone for _hours_ , and wasn't it just like him to go off and leave Blair behind. 

Jerk. 

He groaned as he threw himself down on the futon, his brows drawn together into a scowling line, one finger idly tracing the rutted indention of his wound. It was possible that the two perfect lines would form into scars along his face, and Blair gave himself a mental fantasy of him as a bad-assed guy with actual _scars_. 

"I am Blair Sandburg. You killed my father. Prepare to die." 

Huh-- somehow it didn't have the same ring to it. 

Blair blinked back into reality when he realized that the phone was ringing. Praying internally that it was Jim (if only so that he could bless him out) Blair made a dash for the phone. 

"Hello?" he queried as he held the receiver to his ear. "Jim, that you?" 

"Your partner's in trouble," a strangely sexless voice informed him. Blair's heart stopped, because he _recognized_ it. Oh, damn, did he _ever_ recognize it! "I want you to come alone to the clearing down West..." Blair was given implicit instructions on how to get there and what he was expected _not_ to do-- like pack a gun or bring a back-up. 

"It may take me some time," he warned her, his voice wavering slightly. "The loft is..." 

"Guarded. I know. But if you take the window from Jim's room, you'll be able to slip past them. I expect to see you, alone and unarmed, within 30 minutes or Jim's going to pay." Then she hung up. 

Blair let the receiver fall, his eyes fixed on the far wall. 30 minutes to get to Jim and see that he was safe. 30 minutes that meant the life or death of the man he loved. 

When one broke it down, 30 minutes was not a very long time. 

"I'm coming, Jim," Blair whispered to himself, his hands clenching into determined fists. "Hold on, Big Guy-- I'm coming." 

* * *

It had been easier to sneak out of the loft and to his car than Blair had at first anticipated. For one, however evil and vile the informant might be, she obviously knew her stuff when she said that the back window out of Jim's room was not guarded. Also, living so long with a Sentinel had enabled Blair to construe the perfect scene, from a 'Blair sleeping' sign on his door to a close fascimily of himself laying on the futon. And not to mention silence. Blair had practically mastered the art form of moving silently from his long years of Jimdom. 

Therefore, Blair was out of the loft and trotting swiftly down to where he had left his car earlier in the day with barely any time passing. 

"I'm going to find you, Jim," he promised as he ran, his mind focused on nothing more than to get his Sentinel home and safe. "I promise you that I'm going to find you." 

The drive to the meeting-place was a blur in Blair's mind, as everything that he was was focused on his endangered lover. Time flew by, as did his trust-worthy car, and soon Blair was parking deep behind a sheltering bush, hidden from the nearby highway, just as he had been instructed. Then he began his long hike on foot, and Blair kept his eyes glued before him, his heart and mind straining for his parner with no attention paid to the rest of his surroundings. 

Which, obviously, was how he never noticed the girl directly to the side of him until the tranquilizer dart imbeded itself into his neck. 

Blair gave a choked cry, his hands scrambling up to pluck the dart from his jungular veign, but before he could do more than inch his hands forward, his eyes rolled up into his head and he passed out acorss the warm grass. 

* * *

Blair came to slowly and groggily, a low moan pouring from out of his mouth before he could swallow it. 

"Are you awake, honey?" a soft voice asked from the shadows, and Blair struggled to focus his vision, hating the way everything swirled together madly. The body of a girl eventually came into focus, and with it her elfin face, and Blair stared at the almost-child in stunned silence, realizing that _she_ was the one who had taken him down. She squatted down on her haunches next to the bed, her petite face hovering above Blair's worridly. "You were asleep an awefully long time there, honey, and I was afraid that I'd have to shock you awake or something." Pouring sweetly from her mouth, this seemed more like a favor than anything else. 

"Where's... Jim?" It was a struggle to talk, but he had to know that his lover was safe somewhere, perhaps manacled just like he was on a soft bed. 

Her almost-white brows drew together at his question as she stood and slammed the porceline plate on the carved wooden table, the edges shattering on impact. Food slipped through the wreckage of the plate, but she didn't seem to notice. "Why do you always have to talk about _him_?" she demaded angrilly, her incredialy pale face darkening red in fury. Blair almost expected her to stamp her little foot. "Why's he so much better than I am?" 

Blair tried to follow what she was talking about, but he was still too dazed by the drugs to understand. "I don't" he began, but she caught him off. 

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, your preciouse Jim is perfectly safe at the Police Department." Blair's brows drew together in confusion-- she had already let him go?-- but then she spoke again and he began to understand. "He's going to be mighty mad when he sees that you're gone." She shook an admonishing finger at him, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled. "Bad, bad little Blairy." 

Well, fuck. Jim had never been in trouble at all. 

"But that's okay," she continued, brightening considerably. "I've got you now, so he can just be mad!" She reached out with a tiny hand to stroke Blair's curly hair. "I've got you all to myself." 

Blair pulled gently on the manacles that held his hands and feet to the bed-posts, knowing instinctively that they weren't going to give. Well, he had been in more dangerouse situations before; at least she didn't seem to have any nefariouse plot going on. He was in a surprisingly comfortable room with good lighting and a soft breeze. Pillows propped up his head and shoulders, and a brightly-colored blanket covered him from the chest down. Most importantly-- in his mind, anyways-- he was still wearing his clothes. 

"You're going to be my good Blairy, right?" Her fingers touched the scabbing wounds along his cheeks, a soft nail tracing each one in turn. "My good, good Blairy. I wouldn't have hurt you if I didn't have to." 

Hmm... all right. Now, how to get information out of her? What would _Jim_ do if he were in this situation? 

~Huh. Probably make the chains disappear by magic and over-power her before she even knew he was loose.~ He rattled the chains again as she reached behind her to pull the shards of the plate towards her. Nope, that wasn't going to work. On to plan 'B'. 

And that would be...? 

Well, the Blair way. ~Okay, what would _I_ do if I were in... I mean, what _will_ I do now that... I mean... Oh, screw it. What am I gonna do?~ 

"Are you hungry? I've got some yummy food for you to eat if you're hungry." She held out one of her hands, which was covered in mashed potatoes. 

~Uck.~ "I'm not really that hungry right now, thanks." He hurried on when her face darkened. "But if I could maybe have some later...?" 

"Of course!" she brightened, smearing the potatoes back onto the largest shard. "I'll just feed you later. Okay?" There was something different about her, something that Blair couldn't quite place, as if there was a recognizable thread in her obvious madness. 

"We're going to have so much fun here!" she inthused brightly, her clipped white hair swinging forward. "They don't know where we are, so I can have you all to myself for hours and hours. Won't that be fun, Blairy?" 

They. Again with the They. "Who are They?" he asked quietly, trying to break into her mad euphoria. "And why wouldn't They let you have me if They knew where we were?" 

Blair could have sworn that he saw fear snake through her eyes, but with a blink they were as glassy and bright as before. "Oh, we don't have to worry about that anymore. I got away from Them, and this time, now that I've got you, I don't have to go back!" She grinned and reached out to stroke his face, her sticky hands leaving an uncomfortable trail in their wake. 

"Now that you have me?" Blair prompted, easing forward gently as he tested the rather quicksilver waters. "What do I have to do with this?" 

"Why, now that you're my Guide!" 

Blair froze, his mind beginning to work in mad swirls. The phone calls, Jim unable to find any clues, 'my Guide'... "Are you a Sentinel?" It was so, so pathetically obvious-- so why the _hell_ hadn't he pieced it together before? 

"Oh, no," she laughed brightly, leaning forward to peer into his face. "There aren't many of _those_ left-- only Seth and Julie and Alex and..." Jim. He knew she meant Jim. "I'm one of the almost-sentinels." 

"And Seth and Julie and...?" He was not going to say the other name. No way. "Where are they?" 

She shifted her gaze away, her bright eyes fixing intently on the far-away wall. "They're all over, but they won't be for long. They're gonna be rounded up, all of them, and their Guides killed so that He can have them." She turned back to face him quickly, her face pinched. "But not you, Blair. I'm not going to let them have you-- you're going to be _my_ Guide now, so I don't have to stay with Him anymore. You're going to teach me how to use my Gift." Her hands hurt where she was clenching at him. 

"No," Blair was quick to soothe, pitching his voice low, so low that he could barely hear his own words. "No, I'm not going to leave you: I'll be your Guide." He felt traitorous saying it, but he figured that Jim would understand. He had to say _something_ to ease her obvious fears. "But..." And now he had to tread very carefully, for she was looking at him with glazed eyes that shone bright with... something. Madness perhaps. "But how will having me help you stay away from... Him." He felt stupid saying it. 

She laughed brightly, as if he had been an idiot not to know. "Why, because you're a Guide! You'll make it so I don't have to live off of the drug any more!" 

"The drug...?" Blair began, confused, but she shushed him suddenly. 

"Shh, wait," she whispered, cocking her head to the side as if she were listening to something. Which, of course, made sense considering she was an almost-Sentinel. 

~I wonder what senses are enhanced?~ Blair wondered briefly. 

Then her hands were latched on to his arm, and Blair bit back an involuntary cry of pain. "They found us!" she hissed, low in her throat, her face twisted in worry. "Blair-- they found us! What're we going to do?" Somehow, she looked so frail and frightened that Blair felt his heart extend to her. 

"Well, first it would be a good idea to let me loose," he pointed out reasonably, his quick mind casting about for options. How in the world did one make a get-away from... "Hey, are you the only 'almost-Sentinel'? Or are there others?" 

"There are lots of others. He collects us and makes it so that we need a Guide and..." 

Blair nodded encouragingly as she unlocked his cuffs. "All right-- then I'm going to trust you to lead us out of here, okay? You'll be able to hear them approaching better than I will." 

She nodded briefly, then motioned for him to follow. Each step she took was a careful prodding against the floor with the ball of her foot, almost like she was stalking an animal through the underbrush. Unconsciously, Blair found himself emulating her as he followed her out of the room that had been his momentary prison, surprise coloring his mind tone as he realized how much he was trusting this girl. 

All was going well, that is, until she halted dead in her tracks, her body stiff and terrified. "They've got us surrounded," she whispered. Then, "We're going to die." 

~Ah, fuck,~ Blair sighed, realizing that he was going to have yet _another_ brush with death. It was getting damn repetitive. ~Here I go again.~ 

* * *

Jim found Blair's trail without much problem. ~You'd better be all right, Chief,~ he murmured to himself as he loped along the grassy glen, his senses alert and scanning. Whoever had accosted Blair hadn't done a good job of cleaning up all of the evidence this time! ~If you dare die on me, I'll come and drag you back from the after-life by your hippie hair.~ 

But the thought of what might be happening to his lover... 

Determinedly, Jim increased his pace, causing rising shouts from his back-up team. 

If anyone had hurt Blair, they were going to pay for it-- with their fucking hides. 

* * *

"Is this such a good idea?" Blair murmured semi-silently as the girl led him up the stairs and onto the roof. "I've been in this type of situation before, and I have to tell you that the roof idea never worked then either." She didn't seem to be listening, so he changed his tactics. "Hey, aren't we kinda blocking ourselves off into a corner by doing this anyway?" 

"Maybe they won't look for us here," she whispered, her face intent and focused. And very insane. "Do _you_ think they'd look for us here?" 

~We're going to die.~ "No, maybe not." ~We are _so_ going to die here.~ "Good thinking." 

She smiled faintly and sat down on a concrete out-cropping, letting her hands dangle between her spreading thighs. Blair tried to look comforting and competent, but really, what the hell was he supposed to do? ~I'm not the hero. I'm just not. Jim's the hero; Simon's the hero. I'm just... I'm just an Anthropologist! I'm supposed to study dead cultures, not run around on roofs and risk my life.~ For some reason, when he was with Jim, it seemed a lot less like risking anything. ~God, I wish he was here right now.~ 

As if that thought was a trigger, Blair looked up and, beautifully, miraculously, in the distance he could see a figure making a dead run towards the building. There were others not far behind him, but Blair fixed with a single-minded intensity on the one in front, his eyes sharpening as if he were the one with Sentinel vision. It was Jim- it had to be! 

And then he yelped and ducked as a bullet sliced plaster off of the wall next to his head. 

~Damn, damn damn,~ he muttered in a quick mantra, crab-scuttling towards the girl. ~So much for the roof theory.~ 

"Blair, it's Them!" she hissed as she reached out with iron hands to grasp his shirt. "It's Them!" 

As if he hadn't pieced that together by this point. 

He flung his arm and upper body over her huddled head and shoulders as another spray of plaster raged down on them. "Fuck," Blair muttered as he raised his head slightly, his dark brows drawing together. "You'd think for someone with heightened senses, They'd at least have better aim. I'm pretty sure the building's dead by now." ~Nope, Jim. Humor not helping here. Dammit.~ 

"They're not shooting at _us_ ," she whispered low in her throat, her eyes a terrified rim of blue in a veritable sea of black. "They're playing with us." 

"Well, fuck that!" Blair hissed, but he stayed crouched down. If he were Jim, he would have stood up and kicked their asses by now. But he wasn't Jim, and cowering did just fine for him, thank-you-very-much. 

He winced as a chip of flying plaster struck his face, but he kept his mouth glued shut. He wasn't going to give the bastards the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. 

And as he became aware of the bodies climbing up onto the roof, his mind reached out for his Blessed Protector. 

~Jim.~ 

* * *

~Blair!~ Jim was able to see everything as it unfolded before him-- the few men and women climbing up onto the roof, surrounding his Blair with pointing wepons. He prayed as he ran that Blair would, just this once, not do something incredibly brave and just as incredibly stupid. Blair had a way of playing the hero, and though Jim greatly admired that, there were times when he just wanted to pull Blair out of danger. 

Now was one of those times. 

He was so close-- and getting closer by every loping step-- but not close enough. Not close enough to stop the blow that one of the goons, a dark, burly man, laid across the girl or the swift fist that buried itself into Blair's stomach. He couldn't stop to aim at the man who was pointing a sleek hand gun at his lover, too afraid that if he stopped, he would never make it to his side. 

He couldn't stop, but someone else could. 

The sound of a gun discharging shattered his hearing for one blinding minute, and Jim turned his head slightly to see the sun gleam off of metal and hear Simon's bellow of, "Go on!" He raced ahead, needing no other encouragement, his eyes fixed on the toppled man and the surprised face of his blessedly alive lover. His hand automatically went for the holster and he withdrew his hand gun as he neared the building, his face stone. Two thoughts chased each other through his mind: 

Fury, thy name is Jim Ellison, and 

Blair hurt. They hurt Blair. They die. 

And as he raced up through the door and onto the roof, shattering the jaw of the first of the goons, Jim Ellison smiled a grim smile. 

Sometimes, being a genetic throwback was damn liberating. 

* * *

The actual fire-fight was over much quicker than Blair would have thought possible. First he had been sure that he was actually going to die this time-- the pock-faced man was pointing a rather frightening looking gun at his head and was going on about how he should feel proud that with his death, he was giving them Jim and allowing them to usher in a new phase of humanity. 

Oh, yeah. Sure. 

And then, just as he was squeezing his eyes tight, regretting all the things he had never done (like, well, Jim) the goon gave an inarticulate cry and dropped to the ground. Blair jerked open his eyes, staring in astonishment as the ugly had toppled to the concrete. Then, along with every eye on the roof, he turned to see the approaching calvary. 

~Well, hot damn, score one for the home team!~ 

And then Jim burst in on the scene, taking out one of the gunned men with a crunching blow to the face. After that, it was easy. Surprisingly so. Blair stared as he watched the massacre, jaw dropping as he realized that They weren't doing anything to fight back. They merely let themselves be felled with quick efficiency, almost turning into the blows as if They wanted to be either killed or captured. A few tried to make it off of the roof, but Blair doubted that They would make it very far-- Simon and his team were _good_. 

And then something indescribable happened. Blair stood there on the rooftop, staring silently as Jim knocked down the last feeble opponent, mesmerized by the way the light shone on those clear blue eyes. Then, slowly, as if aware of his scrutiny, Jim raised his head and looked deep within his eyes, and there was love and yearning and fury and desire there, all for the taking, and Blair began to step forward, his eyes and heart full. 

"Blair!" The sudden screech was incongruous to the beautiful perfection of the moment, and Blair turned his head sluggishly to stare at the girl, his captor and fellow captive, as she launched herself through the air. He raised his arms in suprise, meaning to catch her, but then her body jerked mid-way, twisting in the air as she landed hard against the concrete. Jim cursed and aimed his gun, his sharp eyes searching out the gun-man, and Blair moved forward to the body of the fallen girl, shock and worry hanging on his shoulders. 

Her small body spasmed as he put a cautious hand on her shoulder, and she tightened about her middle with a gasping sob that rent his ears. "It's all right," he mummered, Guide soft and soothing, gently pulling her up and over so that he could look at her. "It'll all be all right." It was a lie, and he knew it as soon as he looked at her open wound. The bullet had torn into that delicate place between heart and middle, exploding the soft skin. Blood and solid mass pooled from the gaping wound, and Blair gagged silently as he cupped the spilled organs-- intestines? liver?-- and pressed his hands against the wound. She moaned low in her throat, in obvious pain, and Blair continued to talk to her softly. "I want you to concentrate on my voice," he murmured almost hypnotically, his voice dropping an octave. "Just listen to what I'm saying. Don't think about the pain or anything else. Just me." She seemed to be desperately trying and just as desperately failing. Always the improvizationalist, Blair tried another tactic. "I want you to imagine the pain like it's a... like it's a flower." That seemed like something she would latch onto. Jim dials, her flowers. "I want you to see that flower, see the way that it's open to bursting against the sun. Do you see it?" her small nod was assent enough. "All right, good. Now I want you to imagine that this flower is slowly closing and folding up into itself. I want you to see the petals curling up and tucking against each other as they begin to form a perfect bud. The flower-- the pain-- is a tight bud now. Can you see it?" She nodded briefly, and the majority of the pain melted from her face as if by magic. ~By Jimmy, I think I may have stumbled across something here.~ 

"Is it better now?" 

She nodded, and he began to open his mouth to say that the ambulance would be here soon, but she stopped him with a raised hand. "Blair." Her words were soft and frail and barely there. Her face was clear of pain, but her breath was weazing through her body, and Blair recognized the sound of someone just hanging on to life. "Blair, I'm... sorry. I... only wanted... someone... to Guide me. I only... wanted... to get... away. I didn't... mean to hurt... you. I loved you." her eyes shown, and Blair felt a tight lump form in his throat, for in dying her eyes were not glazed or mad but achingly clear and sorrowful, as if she were looking back on her life in pain. Her breath rattled deep within her throat, and Blair leaned forward to catch her words, knowing that they would be her last. 

"I... only... wanted you... to... love... me...." She looked at him with seriouse and very wise eyes, then past him to the hovering Jim. Then, with a small smile, "Tha... thanks for... being... my... Gui...." 

And she was dead. 

Blair stared at her pale, open face before he finally reached out with a leaden hand to close her delicate lids. It was so strange-- she had threatened him and frightened him, she had hurt Jim and himself, she had kidnapped him, and yet... and yet, somehow, he couldn't find it in himself to hate her. She was just... misled. She was misled. 

And how could he blame her for latching onto him as a life-line? 

But then he felt a soft hand on his shoulder, and Blair became consciouse of his own very real partner. He could never have been her lifeline-- he already had a job in that department. 

"Come, on, Blair," Jim mummered as he tugged him to his feet. It felt wrong to leave her there, but he wanted so much to be away. "Let's go home." 

A ring of almost-Sentinels, hunting down Sentinels, killing Guides, making others dependent on a drug... to what? Control their senses? Many partially gifted men and women lived long lives without a Guide to help them learn control-- what was different about now? 

Too many questions. Too damned many questions. 

Blair let himself be pulled into the crook of Jim's arm, not caring who saw them or how much of her blood that he got on the older man. It just felt good to be held. It just felt good. 

There was always time for questions later. 

"Yeah, Jim. Let's go home." 

* * *

End


End file.
